#yesterday I left open art time for a few minutes because nobody was in there and when i returned I found that

[stephanidftba]

I love you children

I hate you parents who don't talk to their children I hate you parents who don't pay attention to their children I hate you parents who don't tell their children 'no' I hate you parents who don't set boundaries with your children I hate you parents who encourage their children to break strangers' boundaries

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR]Modern AU - Teaching Pains Pt11

Part 10

Prompt 7: Valentine’s Day

There's something surreal about Iruka’s first day back.

For starters, memories hound him. Only yesterday, it seems, or a lifetime ago--except, no, it’s right now --he was-- is? --roaming these halls in search of Naruto. The walls were bereft of glittery puns and eye-searing posters, then, and he doesn’t remember any lone heart-shaped balloon buoying along the curved top of the atrium.

Pink, white and red hearts also hang from the ceilings of the corridor, leftovers from the Valentine’s week that he missed. From experience, he knows that the decorations will keep til somewhere around early March, at which point the first teacher to jolt into awareness of the passing time will rock-paper-scissor a team of colleagues into putting them away.

For once, he’s grateful to see them linger. It helps shrug off the prickle of unease.

Still, a mounting sense of disquiet follows his climb up the stairs to his classroom. His hand falters on the doorknob. In the corridor, the joyful shouts of dozens of children stomping about fade into a haze of dread. He watches himself shove the classroom door open, stagger out against Mizuki. At the foot of the opposite wall, the dark shape of a knife long since picked taunts him.

Before Suzume across from him can offer any awkward words of support, he pushes it all down and steps inside the classroom.

Anyway, besides that, the greatest hurdle to his return to normalcy is his students’ behavior.

It’s impeccable.

“You get five minutes to ask questions, and then we’re picking up where we left off,” he warns with a sigh, hoping to clear the air.

In spite of the tense ripple that passes through his audience, nobody speaks. Even Naruto stays quiet, dropping his gaze to his fiddling fingers. They must've been briefed while Iruka was away, and pretty severely at that.

Eventually, a trembling hand lifts, from a most unexpected source.

“Yes, Hinata?”

“I--Hm. Is Iruka-sensei okay?”

All eyes, even those thus far averted, focus on Iruka with terrifying intensity.

He forces out a laugh. “I’m fine,” he says, but they seem entirely unconvinced. If anything, the half-truth is leaving too much room for their wild imagination.

Luckily, Iruka was already well-practiced in the art of defusion as a teen, and has grown into an adult unafraid to weaponize it.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean it. Having an achy knee at my age is embarrassing, and also my ribs hurt,” he admits sheepishly. Then he cocks a thumb at his own chest and grins. “But that’s nothing! Have I told you I used to be part of the karate team back in the days?”

A collective groan echoes in the room because yes, he has.

“Just give me a few weeks and I bet I could compete again. Picture this: your teacher, a tournament champion! You’ll get to say you knew me well before the fame.” He pinches his chin thoughtfully. “Now that’s an honor.”

A few pained eyerolls follow--the usual response to a lame teacher’s bragging--and then they're back on track. Iruka finally gets to turn to the board and write the day's lesson plan. And if he avoids reaching for the highest part, well, nobody comments.

In truth, he could not be more thankful for Hiruzen’s visit on the weekend he got home. The old Headmaster took a seat at Iruka's dull little dining table, sucked on his unlit pipe, and waited while Iruka clumsily made some tea before his indulgent eyes. Then he said, “I look forward to seeing you back in one week’s time,” and Iruka had no other choice but to take the time off.

The days that followed might have been an excruciating kind of tedious but they were, it turns out, necessary.

And he did get a few visits. Anko was quick to declare his get-well shrine too cumbersome to keep around. She got rid of it through the means of a home delivery. For his part, Naruto made no less than three post-school detours by his place, much to Daikoku and Iruka's exasperation. The last such instance had Kakashi awkwardly trailing behind, looking sheepish and uncomfortable and like he wasn't sure he was welcome, which was ridiculous in light of everything but also made Iruka question if he had hallucinated whatever had passed between them when Kakashi helped him home. And then stayed.

Is it fair to hold someone to the way they acted right after a life-threatening event?

Anyway on Friday evening Kotetsu and Izumo dropped by with their own haul and Iruka spent his last weekend of forced rest eating overdue Valentine chocolate from the teachers’ room and trying not to fret about Monday.

He shouldn’t have worried. In spite of the constant mild pain and the glint-- it’s-a-blade-it’s-a-blade --of a far-off passing car, the day goes fine. He’s just a bit disappointed that it isn't one of Kakashi's appointed days at KMH, but eh , the man has other priorities.

“So, how was it?” Anko asks, plonking the coffee maker back into place.

It's the end of the day. Why she sees fit to finish the thing at such a late hour is anybody's guess.

Iruka shrugs. It almost doesn't hurt.

“Honestly? I expected much worse. Kids were eerily well behaved.”

“Yeah, we had an Assembly while you were away. Hiruzen-sensei was intense.” She pauses with a considering look, which is how Iruka realizes he has begun frowning. “He didn't name names, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But you know?” he asks, feeling the familiar swell of protectiveness within him.

She pulls a face and dismisses it with a wave of indifference. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Honestly Iruka, that kid of yours... You really love the dumb ones.”

And that rankles, a bit.

“Nobody saw it coming,” Iruka says, and feels the echo of Kakashi's voice in his mind soothing some of the guilt from the words.

Something about Anko’s mug must be particularly fascinating, because she drops her gaze to it and sloshes it around.

“Yeah, we didn't,” she murmurs, before offering him a fiercely rueful grin. “As I said: the dumb ones.”

Walking across the main hall proves even more unnerving now that it’s empty. The memory of climbing down those stairs on a busted knee and with freshly cracked ribs burns bright in Iruka's mind. In the muted light, the paper hearts on the walls struggle to dispel it. He half expects to see Ibiki standing on the lawn when he exits.

Instead, he finds Kakashi, reading against a lamppost.

To his credit, he tucks the obnoxious little book away once Iruka reaches talking distance. 

“Please, tell me you didn't bike here,” Kakashi says with no other form of greeting.

“I--uh, no? I took the bus,” Iruka finds it in himself to stutter, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag. He's kept it on the light side but it still weighs uncomfortably.

Kakashi's gaze lands on it, lingers, and then moves up to meet his eyes. “Care for a ride home?”

“Oh you don't h--” Iruka begins to demur. He stops. Reassesses. Rolls his eyes at himself and smiles back. “Yes, please. And thank you.”

Kakashi dips his head like he’s pleased with the words and hands him something. Iruka takes it, because that’s the polite thing to do. While he's busy turning it over, his bag gets tugged from his side and he ducks out of the strap to accommodate it, trying to figure out whatever it is Kakashi gave him.

It's chocolate. Fair trade and organic, the labels say, which Iruka supposes is nice, but an otherwise pretty plain tablet of 60% cocoa chocolate. And it definitely doesn’t explain why Iruka’s distinctly lighter all of a sudden.

Wait.

By the time he looks up to argue, Kakashi has already shouldered the bag. He's looking so easily unconcerned about it that Iruka struggles to find any grip to hang his grievance on. He settles for an uncomprehending glance at the chocolate.

“Thanks?” he says, feeling like the worst sort of tool, but also like at this point he might as well be spiraling on an ice rink and if he trips Kakashi on the way down well, the guy kind of asked for it. Iruka didn't get this wrong-footed all on his lonesome.

Kakashi shrugs and turns away, keeping him in sight with a nonchalant side-eye.

“You weren't here last week,” he says, as if that’s in any way news to Iruka, as if it explains anyt--

Kakashi’s ears are flushed.

Iruka hears a disbelieving chuckle bubble out of him. “Oh, come on. Really?”

The ears turn even redder, shielded on each side by Kakashi’s shoulders. He strides ahead in a way that’s disturbingly similar to a hasty retreat.

“The car’s over there,” he announces.

Chocolate bar safely tucked away, Iruka falls into step with him and bumps their shoulders together. It jostles his sides and sparks a light twinge, but It’s a small price to pay for Kakashi's renewed attention, however wary it may be.

Not that Iruka has any idea what to follow that with, so he simply says, ”I'm glad,” because at least that’s true. It’s a nice gesture.

The mortification recedes from Kakashi’s flush. He scratches the pink skin beneath the eyepatch with self-aware embarrassment and slows his gait. The crinkles at the corner of his visible eye betray a soft little smile.

Iruka wonders if he’s allowed to let their hands brush together. He doesn’t act on the thought.

Kakashi remains a pleased sort of quiet until they stop by a deep green Alto Works that's seen better days. “It's Gai's,” he says at Iruka's inquisitive look.

Like Iruka, he usually bikes to work.

There’s an implication, there, that sparks like hope. Iruka’s chest is light and full at once in a way it has no right to be with this amount of crushed ribs. His throat tightens, but that doesn’t stop his mouth from opening.

“Would you like to go out? With me? On a date?” he blurts out, feeling miserable and uncool and brave all at once.

Kakashi squirms like he's not doing much better, and gives a small nod that's all the more awkward for his attempt to make it suave. “Sure.”

They’re absolutely terrible at this.

Iruka can't help but grin. It wrinkles the scar across his nose, it’s so wide.

“How about the coffee shop?”

It's way past the time for caffeine but that shop stays open late and, anyway, it's not about the drink.

It's never been about the drinks.

Kakashi blinks. “You mean… now?”

“Oh. You don't want to?” Iruka asks, and okay, maybe he's teasing a bit. Just a bit.

The dry look Kakashi gives him speaks to his awareness that he's being played. It only makes the nearly rushed way he unlocks the car and then ushers Iruka inside even more flattering.

Iruka's much too old to be considering making out in a car, he reminds himself in the stifling air inside, charged with the unnamed thrill of expectation. He also isn't sure--Kakashi can be at once upfront and evasive, and that's when he’s not busy being plain withdrawn. Iruka doesn't know what liberties he can take. Out of all those he wants.

When Kakashi pulls up in a parking space and secures the handbrake, the coffee shop across the street is closed.

As is the custom. Every single start of the week.

Iruka throws his head back with a groan. “Oh shit, it’s Monday.”

“Oh, is it?” comes the replies, dry as the desert.

A thought strikes Iruka then, of just how fast he'd have bristled, months ago, at the wry raise of Kakashi's visible eyebrow.

Now, he just snorts and rolls his eyes, complicit in the teasing. “Pft, don’t give me that, I got confused. You’re not usually around on Mondays.”

Kakashi hums acknowledgment and grants the point with a tip of his head.

They both stare out at the closed coffee shop. There's a mild sense of betrayal about the situation, like they’re both actors of a planned scene whose director threw away the script.

“You didn't call,” Kakashi says.

Sheepish, Iruka scratches the bridge of his nose. It’s true, he didn’t. He barely sent Kakashi a couple of texts. In the cold light of solitude, he found himself struggling to sort through the events. Emotions had been running high. He got betrayed by a friend. He was in pain. He didn’t know how much of what he read into Kakashi’s care wasn’t just pure projection.

“I was too miserable to talk, to be honest,” is the partial truth he’s willing to admit to. “But I was glad to see you when you dropped off Naruto,” he offers as a tentative peace offering.

That gets Kakashi to perk up.

“You were?”

“Yes? I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

Uncharacteristically bashful, Kakashi glances away with a murmur of: “I didn't want to impose.”

Iruka looks at him like he's grown two heads. “After everything you've done…”

Gone is the shyness. Kakashi’s eye sharpens at the words. “You shouldn't feel indebted,” he says somewhat cuttingly.

They share a look. Even hidden behind his perpetually creased coat, Iruka can tell Kakashi's body's drawn tight as a bow. He’s leaning back and slightly away, like he’s gearing up, maybe for a fight, definitely for a blow.

As far as Iruka’s concerned, he doesn’t intend to go for either.

“That’s not what this is,” he tells Kakashi.

“Then what is this?”

“What was the chocolate for?”

“You know what. But you shouldn't consider it out of obligation.”

The long-suffering groan those words draw out of Iruka surprises them both. In all fairness, Iruka would have been hard-pressed to suppress it even with an advanced warning.

He slaps a hand over his eyes.

“You’re so… Fuck, but Anko is right.”

“What?” Kakashi asks, sounding like he thinks he should be offended and doesn't understand why he isn't.

Iruka drops his hand to level him with the full weight of his glare. Kakashi greets it by leaning in with his single eye wide-open. Expectant.

“You're a pain in the neck, Kakashi. I'm pretty sure you're responsible for half the gray hairs I've gained this school year.”

“Only half?” Kakashi mutters sotto voce like he can't help himself.

Iruka wants to strangle him. Iruka wants--

“I really want to kiss you.”

In his rush to deliver, Kakashi snaps off the left strap of his mask.

His lips are warm against Iruka’s, slightly moist from being covered all day. His jawline tilts up, vulnerably exposed. Iruka can’t resist the urge to cup it, thumb settling right beneath his hidden eye and stroking the early rise of his cheekbone. The skin is smooth there, even more so on the downwards slash of his old scar, buffered by time. In contrast, his chin tingles a bit, light pricks of uneven stubble rubbing against Iruka. With his pale hair and skin, Kakashi probably doesn’t bother shaving nearly as close as Iruka has to, especially with how often he keeps his face concealed.

Iruka chuckles at the thought, little puffs of air between them that Kakashi answers with an inquisitive hum, and that Iruka swallows back by closing in again.

Turns out, he’s not too old to make out in a car after all.

When Kakashi’s little moans finish lighting his every nerve on fire, though, Iruka’s forced to concede to the urgent need for a recess.

He pulls off with a gasp. A flash of concern creases Kakashi's brows, then clears in the light of understanding. Before moving away, he catches Iruka’s mouth in one last searing kiss, and it takes every single drop of willpower in Iruka not to pull him in again.

Instead, he steals a few pecks while they part, until they finally drop each against their own backrest, out of breath.

Iruka bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe our first kiss was in a cramped car.”

Not without humor, Kakashi considers the driving stick between them, and bobs his head in a so-so motion. “It’s good dissuasion.”

“Yeah,” Iruka says, watching Kakashi's hand creep closer to the loose bangs escaped from his ponytail. He allows a few gentle attempts to brush them out of his face before remembering himself. “Gods, please don’t do this or we’ll start all over again, and I don't think my ribs can take it.”

Kakashi drops his hand with an amused snort. He also takes the time to check the way Iruka's carrying himself but he doesn't seem overly alarmed by what he sees, even as he asks if Iruka's okay.

“I'm fine,” Iruka says breezily. “It just aches, twisting around like this. Worth it, though,” he adds with a grin.

The pleased flush that takes over Kakashi's cheeks is making it very difficult not to lean in again.

“Yeah?” Kakashi asks cautiously.

Iruka holds his breath against the pain just long enough for a lightning taste of Kakashi's lips.

“Yeah.”

Kakashi stares at him adoringly. Iruka feels undeserving.

He rubs the back of his neck. “It'd probably be easier on a couch,” he says, looking from under his lashes. “You're taking me home anyway, and I owe you coffee.”

“No thanks, you need a better coffee maker,” Kakashi mutters, but he also starts the car.

In the end, Iruka makes them both some dated herbal tea he finds in the back of a cabinet, just so they have an excuse to linger.

The worst of the urgency has died down, though. Kakashi does actually take a sip of his drink after sitting down--and also wrinkles his nose at the quality, because he's a snob.

“I really like you,” he says after setting the mug on one of the discarded envelopes Iruka converts into makeshift coasters.

“I gathered, yeah,” Iruka replies brazenly, trying to hide the spike of his nerves. He didn't expect Kakashi to be this blunt.

He worries what else Kakashi could be so blunt about.

“I mean it,” Kakashi carries on, with only a brief falter to his apparent confidence. “I don't--I don't usually bother dating, I'm not even interested, most of the time. So I wanted you to know, I don't take this lightly.”

A single-eyed stare should not be this intense. Iruka struggles with a sense of unreality, staring at Kakashi’s unmasked face, at the expression of near solemnity that carried his confession.

As the seconds of breathless silence drag on, Kakashi begins pushing up, impassive. His voice is offensively businesslike when he speaks. “I don't want to pressure you. How about I go so you can think about it?”

“How about you give me a minute to process, first?!” Iruka snaps back.

Kakashi lowers himself back slowly.

Resisting the gravitational pull of his couch, Iruka braces on his knees and digs his thumbs into the space between his eyebrows. He wishes they could just ignore this step in the dance and go back to fooling around like spontaneous teenagers, but he's also thankful for Kakashi's pragmatism. It's nothing he hasn't thought about himself, after all.

He sinks back.

“I don't take this lightly either,” he tells the wall space above his hand-me-down television. Then, because Kakashi deserves more than cowardice, he meets his eye. “You're my coworker. I don't date coworkers.” A self-conscious chuckle escapes him. “I mean, I haven’t dated at all in a while either, because who has the time to even go looking--But I like you. You're… extremely maddening in all senses of the term.”

“Thanks?”

Iruka terribly wants to card a hand through his gray hair.

He ducks his head and gives a bashful squeeze to the back of his own neck instead. “It's not bad. I don't have to worry if you'll keep up with me. If anything, you make me feel like I can keep up with you , which is really flattering.”

There's a stiffening at his side but Kakashi doesn't interrupt.

“I mean… I have my temper,” Iruka adds, in distantly amused self-awareness. “You have your pride. But you still let me apologize when I'm in the wrong. And then you let us move on, which… I can’t tell you… Not having to halve myself to fit… It’s--I really appreciate it.”

Kakashi kisses him.

Just surges against him and kisses him.

It's the strangest sensation, like a sudden crashing wave going in slow motion right before the point of impact. Kakashi pushes him down into the cushions with a strength that feels unrelenting and a gentleness that takes out any sense of demand. The errant pillow that could've caused any discomfort is pushed to the floor. Iruka’s legs are given room to climb on the couch. Kakashi straddles his hips, bowing over with his hands digging in the couch to keep his weight off. And kisses him, urgent and slightly shaky.

Intending to soothe him, Iruka reaches up to rub his back. When his hand meets the lower end of his untucked shirt, though, he doesn't course correct. The skin is scorching hot under his touch.

Kakashi lets out a punched out moan.

“God damnit,” he whispers against the corner of Iruka's mouth, trying to collect himself, “you’re not being fair .”

Iruka can't resist kissing his chin. He's not doing much better himself. Truthfully, he did not expect to still have it in him, this sudden outpouring of desire. He considers twisting his hips to flip them over, and reaches the devastating conclusion that he'll have to wait a bit longer before he can fully enjoy having Kakashi pinned down.

What a thought, though.

He moves aside a bit, giving his left arm room to spread so it's not so uncomfortably trapped against his side. Kakashi accommodates him easily.

His expression is so terribly fond that Iruka feels his insides squirm in a guilty sort of distress. That's… a lot of emotions, there. Aimed at him, of all people. He's usually the one doing the emoting.

“I just wish you'd be a bit more careful about silly things like safety regulations,” Iruka jokes, trying for levity.

Kakashi gives him a long, searching look then kisses him again, the asshole.

“I like that you care,” he says very seriously when he's done, because he's contrarian like that. His expression doesn't waver even when his cheeks go gently pink as he considers his next words. “And I think it'd feel really good if Iruka-sensei were to care this strongly about me too.”

Iruka stares up, throat tight, so tight it's a wonder he's even able to speak next.

“I don't think that'll be a problem,” he chokes out.

Kakashi leans in and rewards the honesty with another kiss.

[kirishoshego]

Favorite Crime//Kirishima

!!MINORS DNI!! 18+ only

(at this point big shout out to you for coming up with these ideas!) this time under the title "Hey, watch it creep" My second piece for another collab created by@ultimate-astridwriting

Pairing: Yandere!ProHero!Kiri x fem!reader Words:7.6k

Summary: Meeting your fav Pro Hero at a convention was meant to be a one time thing, but coincidentally you somehow lost your most important belongings. And what a coincidence that out of everyone Red Riot himself found it.

TW: yandere, possessiveness, mild manipulation, dc (stalking, mention of death and murder, but not explicitly described, him keeping you locked up only mentioned at the very end, thoughts about it coming sooner), break in, long sex scene on the kitchen table, cunnilingus, fingering, choking, biting, leaving bite marks, Daddy Kink, softdom!Kiri, praise, size kink slightly, unprotected sex

Deafening screams surrounded you as you were waiting for the big double doors to open. Luck, that's what you called it when you got one of the last VIP-Tickets, considering they were sold out in seconds. It was still hard to believe that you were going to meet Red Riot himself, again. You knew him from before his fame, he had saved you once from a small accident you were involved in and ever since then he was your number one hero. By now he had saved hundreds of lives, there was no way he would remember you. And even without a personal backstory he would be your #1.

The black doors opened, revealing two buff looking security guards on each side. They kept a straight face while checking each ticket and searching through the belongings before people who were shining brighter than the sun entered the huge hall. Your excitement was soon replaced with fear, the anxious feeling of something going wrong bubbling up deep inside of the pit of your stomach. There was no chance things shouldn't go well, you tried to calm yourself down. The ticket was bought fair and square, not from a sketchy third partner, you had no weapons in your pockets or purse. But what if the code won't scan? If they think you faked it, call the cops on you, you will be banned from ever coming here again, no chance of ever meeting Kirishima again.

"Madam? Please continue walking, you're holding up the line," the security guard told you as she handed you the VIP bracelet. Every thing was just fine just said to yourself as you stepped into the event that's about to change your life. You were astonished at how colorful the hall was. Food stands were scattered around filling the big room with a comforting smell of everything sweet and savory. People were dressing up as characters from movies, animes and mangas or comics. Merchandise was showcased and sold. Special merch worth more than your rent for the next five month and others so expensive you would probably have to sell your soul for.

Fate, that's what he called it when his eyes landed on you from the raised platform through the tinted windows. While you were admiring some art, he was admiring another piece of art: you. The scene of him saving you played in his head as if it was yesterday, how you clung to him, looking up into his red eyes as if he was some sort of god. Never would he forget your smell, sweet and intoxicating. Kiri still carried the bracelet you gave him as a thank you, apologizing because it was nothing special, even after he told you it was his job, you don't need to give him anything. Now it was his lucky charm, taking it with him wherever he went. Warmness spread through his body when he spotted you buying a T-Shirt of his. You thought about him too.

Kirishima had spent two years searching for you, changing his work-out routine just so he could pass by the crash scene in hope to bump into you again. But how was he supposed to find you if he didn't even knew your name. Luck just didn't seem to be on his side. Until now. You were here, he finally had a second chance to get you and he wasn't going to pass it up. No matter who you were here with or for, he is going to be the only one on you will leave with.

"Red Riot, you with us?" one of the PR people pulled him away from you, back to the conversation they were having. "What? Sorry, of course," he said, looking down again only to find you missing again, silently cursing the man behind him. "You seem a bit lost, everything alright Eiji?" Mina asked him as she stepped beside him, putting her hand on his muscular arm. "Yeah, sorry, just a bit nervous. That's all. Thank you for asking," she offered him a bite of the donut she was currently eating to calm him down a bit, which he gladly accepted, feeling a bit more at ease now. He will find you this time, no doubt in his mind.

Three minutes. That's how long it took Kirishima to find you among everyone else. At first he over looked you, which really wasn't his fault. Someone dressed up as Elias Ainsworth was simply covering your smaller frame, but the moment his searching eyes fell on you his heart skipped a beat. You were here. For him. To see him, to be with him. Only five more people he thought, he could do that.

But now that he had seen you time appeared to be moving argonising slow. Minutes felt like hours and as much as he tried he could barely listen to whatever his fans told him, all his attention, all his thoughts where on you. His smile didn't falter once and he was kind to all, but he couldn't help and rush the small meetings.

"Hey love," his voice was deep, raspy and set of butterflies in your stomach, the warmness of his smile spreading through your body. "Hey Red Riot," your voice was small, quiet, everything it wasn't supposed to be. "Please call me Eijiro," first name basis. Even Kirishima would have been an honour, but he wanted you to call him by his name, had to hear you say it, make him feel like he's finally home. "I'm Y/N," you introduced yourself, your voice feeling a bit more secure. "Y/N, what a beautiful name," the effect his compliment had on you made him smile even more, it appeared to be easy to fluster you. "Thank you, Eijiro," he wanted you to say it over and over and over again, with love and adoration, moan it out while he pleased you better than any other human could even dream about.

"Are you here with someone?" an uneasy feeling made its presence felt. What if you were in love with someone else? „No. I'm here alone, my friend who wanted to tag along fell sick," you explained to him, noticing the tension that had build up in his body now leaving. "How long are you going to stay?" Kirishima asked, feeling less stressed once you revealed you plan on staying till early evening, considering there will be a small conference with the heroes. You didn't want to miss the opportunity of seeing everyone else here.

There was so much he wanted to tell you, ask you, get to know you, keep you with him, he couldn't handle loosing you again. But the photographer cleared his throat, pointing to his clock. He knew there was no way around meeting everyone else, so the faster this was over, the sooner he could be with you.

"I'll see you later," it wasn't a question, it was a statement, a promise. Nobody noticed his hand slipping into your bag when he hugged you goodbye. Nobody noticed how your keys and wallet disappeared into the big inner pockets of his jacket. He didn't do anything wrong, he wouldn't do anything with it, he would simple borrow it for a while, there was nothing wrong with that, right? "I hope so," you told him, sad that you had to part ways.

"Next," called the photographer, after handing you the printed out picture, the frame for it already awaiting you at home.

The interaction between the two of you still didn't answer you wether or not he remembered you. You never stood a chance with him anyway, he is a famous pro hero after all, he already said there was currently no time for someone serious in his life. That was until you sat in between the rather small crowd hanging on every word the heroes said while sitting on the stage. He revealed he had his eyes on someone. Your heart shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you couldn't deny the feeling of your heart contracting.

The same way his did when he noticed you were gone. He had seen you in the crowd, waved at you when he went on stage, there was merely a tiny time frame of maybe ten seconds where his eyes weren't on you. Kirishima had to calm himself down, his erection growing harder by the minute, watching you wrap your lips around the wooden straw and thinking about how they would feel wrapped around him instead. He felt like fourteen again, mentally slapping himself for being turned on by something as simple as that, which definitely was a first for him. Those few seconds allowed you to slip away. Or at least you tried, considering you had no where to go without your car or money.

All he had to do to find you was walk onto the parking lot. Your cussing could be heard even from afar, telling yourself how stupid you were for not being more careful. "Everything okay?" his sudden appearance startled you and he almost felt bad when he noticed how defeated you look. "Oh, Eijiro. Yeah everything is okay, I'm fine," you brushed off, but the look of a lost puppy written across your face told him otherwise. "I'm not stupid you know?" he raised his eyebrows, leading you to a bench surrounded by small flowers, shielded by a big tree.

"Someone stole my stuff, I don't know how to get home. Also my phone died and my portable charger is in the car, so…“ you told him. A sigh left your lips as you looked at him through your lashes. "Y/N, that's really not a problem. I can drive you home, I'll talk to the organizer and security, maybe someone already found it and gave it to them or they will find it when they clean. It's not the end of the world, okay?," he laid his arm around you and pulled you into him, the heat radiating off of him calming you down. "Ki- Eijiro, that's really kind of you, but I can't-" you missed the flash of anger across his face. He won't let you turn him down. "I won't accept a no,“ before you could say anything he pulled out something from his pocket with a cheesy smile, hoping to lift up your mood.

"I still have your bracelet," he remembered. "You didn't forget about me," disbelieve was waved in your voice as you starred at the small object in his hand. "Never," red eyes took in every little detail about you, from tiny scars to anything that ornamented your face. "Come on, let's get you inside, it's getting a bit cold. I will talk to the staff and you can grab something to eat from our buffet," offered the tall man. He just wanted you to be happy, wanted you to feel save with him, wanted you to trust him. "Thank you," and you did, how could you not when he was basically a sunshine walking on two legs.

Whatever you offered, he declined it, telling you he had to go this way anyway. Which was the half truth, considering he should have turned right about twenty minutes ago instead of left. He just didn't want you to feel bad. Kirishima had asked you all sorts of thing, some more personal than others. Suspicious was the last thing he wanted you to be right now. It’s not like he didn’t care about your favorite color or band, but right now all he wanted to know was wether or not you’re seeing someone. You didn’t.

As you went to step out of his car Eijiro stopped you, asking for your number so he could text you if they find anything. You were more than happy to comply, smiling when he wished you a good night, texting you once he got home:

Meeting you again was awesome, I’m glad I have you back in my life :)

A week had almost passed and you found yourself texting the Pro Hero more and more. They found your belongings the next day, so Kiri offered to drop them by within the next few days. He had to find a reason to text you longer, had to build a relationship with you.

The red haired man send you a bouquet of flowers and a cute stuffed animal that reminded him of you after you told him your ex was found murdered. His body crushed like a grape. You had told you weren't really sad, he wasn't kind to you in the past, but it still didn't leave you unbothered. Probably got mixed up in a gang fight, his addiction wasn’t unknown and the case was quickly closed by the police.

Something he didn't want to find out while texting was that you were going on a date tonight. Everything between the two of you was going so great and now another man ruined it. You could have said no, but it wasn't your fault, you simply didn’t know any better. It was your dates fault for thinking he could try to take you away from him. Another reason why he had to keep you save from the outside.

He stood me up you texted him, feeling annoyed by the fact your date wasn't even mature enough to let you know it won't work.

I'm sorry. He didn't text you or anything? Of course he didn't, Kirishima thought to himself, watching the burning car. What a pity that his brakes didn't work. You should always check before you go somewhere.

No, nothing. He didn't even reply to my last message

Wait for me love, I'll be there shortly x

It was easy for him to get you to share your location with him. All he wanted was to look out for you, make sure you're safe when he isn't near you. The world is so cruel and you're his friend, that's all he had to say to you. Kirishima loved how naive you were just for him.

Usually you paid attention, don't give away too much, don’t give up the control you had with your surroundings. But it's different with him. He wasn't sure if you even noticed how much you trusted him, how easy it was for you to put your life in the hands of Red Riot. Misusing that trust would never pop into his head, he loved you for so long now, but he was scared he will lose you again. He might just has to keep you to him entirely. Would you let him? Or did he had to take you?

When he arrived at the luxurious restaurant his breath hitched in his throat as his red eyes landed on your gorgeous figure, clad in the most beautiful piece of clothing he had ever seen.

"Hey love," he greeted you, feeling your arms wrap around his torso, the smell of your perfume hitting his nostrils. "Hey Eijiro, you didn't need to come here. I could have just gone home and eat some take out," you explained, his hug around you tightening. It made you feel warm, not knowing his grip turned harder out of anger. Why would you always tell him about the things you could do without him. Every time he offered to be with you you would say no, tell him you didn't want to bother him. Did you not realize how in love he was? Or did you and you simply didn't feel the same? The thought of you turning him down made him even angrier, to a point of you squeaking out that you couldn't really breath. He apologized with a laugh, complimenting you. You didn't even got to say no after he told you to go inside again to have the date with him instead, as the tall man already pushed you through the door.

All he had to do was drop his name, a table ready within five minutes and an appetizer already awaiting you. As much as you would love to call this a date, you had to remind yourself that he was seeing someone. Never would you try and get between them, possibly destroying their happiness. His happiness. The sorrowful reminder of the two of you just being friend still stung. Even though you thought you had convinced yourself you only liked him as nothing more than that.

"They gave me your things by the way, they’re in my car. I would like to drive you home, is that okay?" he liked to give you the illusion of having a choice. "Are you sure? I can take the bus," you offered, knowing how far away his cottage was. "Nonsense, come on," he held the door open for you yet again, his eyes wandering to your beautiful ass that he would love to feel in his big hands, groping it and leaving his print in red on its flesh.

The car ride was filled with music and small talk, telling him about your day and your plans for the rest of the week and visa versa. When his fingers, draped over the shift gear, slightly brushed your thigh you shifted in your seat, turning your legs away from him. Kirishima's hand turned red, white spots appearing, caused by the tight grip on his shift. It almost cracked the leather and metal.

"So how are you and your... partner?" way to go, you thought to yourself. You knew a whole lot about him by now, but you have never talked about his sexuality. As far as you knew he could be gay. And because he never talked about the person he is seeing you couldn't just assume anything about them.

Why were you suddenly asking about Bakugou? Was he wrong about you? Where you like his last lovers? It didn't matter to him that they used him to get close to his best friend because he used them as well. But you? It felt like part of him died.

"Bakugou is just fine," his jaw was clenched and as much as he tried to keep his happy face on for you, the thought of you touching yourself to the thought of his best friend and not him? Craving Bakugou, wishing for his lips to be on yours, his arms wrapped around you, not Kirishima's. "Oh..." his eyes flickered to your face for a few seconds before returning to the road, seeing a surprised look painted on your face. "I didn't know the two of you were a thing! That's great though," while your lips were curved upwards your eyes didn't match. "What?" now it was his turn to be bewildered. "I mean, I heard the rumors of some fans shipping you, I didn't know they were true! Don't worry your secret's save with me," his body language told you how much he disliked the current situation and you didn't mean to push him.

"No... Wait. I am so confused right now. Why do you think I'm dating my best friend?" he asked you, turning into your street. Once you explained your train of thoughts his booming laugh filled the vehicle, relieve filling his whole body and feeling a ton being lifted off of his shoulders. „Oh, hahaha no. No, I'm not seeing anyone. What I meant at the con was- oh shit," the car stopped abruptly, his big arm immediately going across your chest to stop you from being pushed forward even with the seat belt on.

"Wha-" your eyes had followed his gaze, spotting whatever had him looking like he had seen a ghost. Your door was ajar and you spotted a cornice across your window from inside. It was dark but the street lights allowed you to see just enough. The shoe cabinet in your entrance was knocked over, jackets laying on the floor. The man next to you ordered you to wait in his locked car before he went inside, his quirk activated.

If the situation wasn't so dangerous your mouth would be watering at the sight of Red Riot in action. A breath you didn't know you were holding escaped your lips once he came back in sight. "Nobody is in there but I don't think it's save," his raspy voice told you as he opened your door, his hand finding place in the small of your back as you went inside. "You should pack your things and stay with me for a while, just so we're sure nobody is trying to harm you in particular," he let you know. "Why would anyone try to get to me? I don't have a useful quirk. My parents aren't rich, neither am I, I don't hold any power," you said, his hand stopping you from cleaning. "We should call the police. If you move anything it might mess up evidence on it," he knew what he was talking about, he had experienced these type of situations plenty of times. "Didn't your ex recently die? What if there is a crazy lover going around? Maybe he still owns someone money. You know you're save with me Y/N. I'm not that far away from you, your work is right around the corner, just a different direction," he saw a small part of you still hesitating to accept his offer, while another part of you wanted to be with him.

"I promise you, as long as you stay with me, nothing bad will happen to you," Kirishima would never let anything happen to you, never. He couldn't forgive himself if he let something hurt you. "That would be nice,“ you didn’t know the weight your words carried. It was like a modern Beauty and the Beast, only this time the Beast was already in love with his Beauty.

It worked :) Candy is send, should arrive soon.

It did, tastes delicious.

2k and a VIP pass to the next con was all it costed him to convince a small-time criminal he had caught before to break into your house and cause some chaos. Nobody was going to get hurt and he would never get in trouble for it promised Kirishima. And he would hold that promise dear to him. Because if that guy would get caught so did the hero, who had a lot more on the line. Which luckily for Eijiro that guy didn't think about much.

An hour later you stood in a huge entrance floor. Dark marble floors radiating warmth, caused by underfloor heating, welcoming the pacing of your feet as you slipped out of your jacket. "Eijiro, this place is beautiful! I might never leave again," you laughed to convey your joke. "You can stay forever if you want," as if you had a choice, he thought to himself, glad you liked your new home. He had renovated it a bit in the last week, making sure everything was the best of the best.

"Why don't you slip into something comfy? I'll do so too and then we can watch a movie if you like?" he offered and even though you felt tired watching a movie with him did sound like a great idea. He showed you around the house, explaining how Bakugo had helped with most of the interior design.

„I just don’t have an eye for that, but Katsuki? He’s brilliant,“ he explained, stopping at a wall covered in pictures. All of his friends had gifted him pics when he moved, so he decided to dedicate a wall to them. Pointing at a photograph of the two of you set off butterflies in your stomach. „That’s my newest addition, you look so beautiful here,“ Mina made that picture of the two of you, he had wrapped you in his jacket before walking back inside to talk to the security guards. (Y/e/c) eyes were fixed on him, laughing about a joke he made, his hand pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

„This is the bathroom, if you need anything, just call me. Conditioner and everything is in there, feel free to use whatever,“ Kirishima offered, laying out a warm towel for you after you asked to hop under his shower.

"Please don't laugh. I thought I grabbed a different shirt but I must have been a bit lost in my thoughts," you told him, feeling heat rising up in your cheeks. When going through your bag you were so sure you had grabbed a plain big shirt, but it turned out to be the one you had bought at the con. It's not like he didn't knew you were a fan, it was just weird to wear his merch in front of him. "I think it's really cute," the man clad in a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose red shirt patted the spot next to him, a drink and soft blanket waiting for you already.

He had been drawing spiral patterns all over your upper legs and while his eyes starred at the screen he didn't had clue what the movie was about as his brain was corrupted by thoughts surrounding you. Only when a sex scene on screen caused you to shift ever so slightly in your position did his day dreams falter. Whatever the people were doing before, right now he had trapped her in between him and the wall. His hand was around her throat while his knee gave her some sort of relieve and whispering dirty things into her ear.

"Thinking about me doing that to you princess?" he asked you sweetly, pulling your attention from the suddenly very interesting bottle cap. Kirishima's lust got the best of him, he couldn't hold back anymore. He had to have you in every way possible and as much as he wanted to wait, to get you used to everything, introduce you to the situation you still didn't knew you were in- he couldn't. "Hm?" you probably misheard him, you weren't really paying attention to be fair.

"I asked you," he grabbed your chin with his hand, thumb on your chin while making you look into his eyes. You hadn't noticed but his whole demeanor changed. His bright eyes now as dark as red wine, catching every movement of your muscles, his body tense, appearing like a predator ready to jump on its prey.

"If you think about me touching you?" Kirishima finished, knowing very well that you did. He almost fucked up a job because the sight of you touching yourself moaning out his name barely left him any piece of sanity. You had read a story about him, a very dirty one as well and fuck how wet you were, so needy and helpless, mind filled with him and him alone.

He couldn't bare the thought of you having any secrets, something he didn't know. Kirishima had to know everything, what you eat, your favorite drink, what type of gifts you appreciate, your favorite type of book genre, movie genre, what TV you liked to watch. Where you more of a dog or a cat person? Or both, maybe neither? What made you happy, what made you sad, how can he lift up your mood? It wasn't hard to get access to your laptop. Okay, well it was, but he had watched a friend hack into someone's stuff before, for another mission and remembered how to do it. Just in case. And oh my, you were such a good girl for him. Saved all of your passwords, your history, your Netflix, youtube, tumblr. Everything laid out for him, because you wanted him to find it, find out everything he wanted. He loved you more and more every second.

You were beneath him within seconds, his large frame towering over yours and trapping you. His warm breath was fanning over your face, eyes flickering between yours and your lips while a few strands of loose red hair fell into his face.

"Eiji-" as you attempted to sit up again he pressed your upper body down without any effort using his hand, feeling your heartbeat quicken. His sweatpants appeared to be much tighter all of the sudden and you couldn't help but peak down slightly, the sight of his dick print, revealing his impressively thick girth, the length hidden through the shirt he was wearing.

"My eyes are up here," he chuckled, face getting even closer. "Eijirou, I don't think we should do anything indiscreet," you told him, pushing yourself forward by your feet in a feeble attempt to escape. Only to have him flip you over on your stomach, one hand wrapped around your wrists and holding them above your head.

„Don’t fight it," he whispered in your ear, grinding down on your ass, enough to send pleasure through your whole body, goose bumps appearing on your skin. "We should-" you tried to form a complete sentence, but his lips on your neck were thwarting your plan, especially after they found your sweet spot.

"Hm?" he asked, peppering more kisses along your delicate skin, your senses heightening when his sharp teeth were dragged along it. His soft lips curled up into a small smirk as another moan hit his ears, before his teeth sunk into your neck. The scream escaping your lips was a something in-between pain and pleasure. And without a thought you had pushed your ass into him, your throbbing cunt begging for attention. Shame clouded your head as you came to realize how turned on you were by the currently obscure scene you had found yourself in.

"Do you want me to stop?" his tone let you know that there was only one right answer, his other hand slipping underneath you to tease you. The tip of his finger ghosted over your clit, earning a whine from your side. As you tried to push yourself down to create some sort of friction he pulled away, clicking his tongue.

"I asked you a question Y/N,“ his husky voice reminded you, kissing the fresh bite mark and caressing it with his sharp tongue. "No," you breathed, the lust your body felt in every inch betraying your mind, which was barely functioning at this point.

"Tell me you want me and I'll put the world to your feet," he meant it, all he needed to hear was that you wanted him, he needed, craved, starved for your acceptance of him as the man by your side. "Eijiro, I want you," you whispered, feeling hot and cold at the same time, craving his touch on you but also to disappear in between the cushions. Surely you had thought about this plenty of times but telling him, talking to him like that was new, unknown.

"Come on princess, don’t tease daddy and tell me what you want," he groaned into your ear, nibbling at its lobe. Rough hand groped your ass, kneading it, fingertips gliding across the swell, down between your legs, going all the way up only to skip the spot you needed him at the most. "I want you, please," he had heard you just fine the first time but he couldn't get enough of it, needed more.

"You can do better," he was more of a pleaser but now that he had you, he had to take his time with you, had to have you to submit to him. "Please Daddy, I need you, I want you," the pitiful tone of your voice surprised you, but the reaction of his body let you know just how much he liked it. It was impossible to miss the twitch of his length against you or feel his hands tightening, the sound of a heavy breath escaping his lungs.

Once again you found yourself facing him, being pulled onto his lap, on hand on your hips and the other one caressing your face. The grip on your chin wasn't harsh, just strong enough to keep you in place. His soft thumb stroked over your bottom lip, pupils dilated as he watched it bounce back in place and glistering from your saliva.

If he wasn't in love with you already he definitely would be by now. He didn't give you the chance to say another word as his lips came crushing into yours, molding together perfectly. It felt electrifying and intense, a kiss filled with passion and hunger. Wandering hands grabbed your ass and as a soft moan graced his ears he slipped his tongue into your mouth, tips colliding and swirling around one another. Kirishima pulled you closer to him as your hand went into his hair, the other one tugging on his shirt.

"So eager," he whispered against your lips, happy to comply to your wishes and pulling off his shirt in one swift motion, your eyes not knowing where to look at first. Your attention was quickly occupied again by his hand slipping under your shirt, going along your side, up to your chest while he once again interlocked your lips.

The moans slipping into his mouth as his thumb circled over your nipple were fuel on fire and as much as he enjoyed taking his time with you, he will have all the time in the world with you from now on. The big man had waited so ling for this moment, had dreamed about this situation, spend so many hours thinking about it during the day. His mind was filled with you as was his heart, how you laugh, how you talk, how you taste. Oh, he had to know how you taste and he knew if he waited one too many seconds he might destroy you with the lust inside of him.

Strong arms secured you as he stood up, walking over to his dinning table and sitting you down on it. „It would only be fair for you to get undressed too,“ Kirishima mumbled against your lips, hands already at the hem of it and pulling it up. A few curses fell from his lips as he saw that you weren’t wearing a bra under the shirt. Pushing you down gentle his lips landed on your neck again, kissing the slightly swollen mark. He couldn’t help it, the view was so hot, he had to give you another one. You’re his, only his, nobody will take you away now. Nobody can. And even if they dared to try he will rip them apart.

As the red haired man continues to work his way down, he stopped at your naked chest. While giving one nipple bites, kisses and soft flicks of his tongue, the other one got attention through his hands, pinching and circling them. The movements had you gasping for ear, your legs wrapping around him and pulling him into you.

„Daddy I need more,“ you whimpered, making him kiss the valley between your breasts, down your stomach, before he stopped above the only fabric left on you. Your underwear was discarded in a second, the sound of fabric ripping made you look at him. His ruby red eyes were fixated on your glistering cunt, licking his lips as the thought of your pussy on his tastebuds.

Taking a seat in front of you it looked like you were the dessert he had been craving for years, never finding the right one. But now here he was, ready to devour you and hear you moans, have you gush over him. „Legs over my shoulders,“ he tapped them, grabbing the soft flesh of your thighs as you obeyed his order. „Good girl,“ Eijiro groaned, kissing the spots close to your core before his lips finally met your clit.

The cunnilingus he gave you made you feel like you were send to heaven and back. His sharp tongue knew exactly what to do, knew where to be at the right time. Nails dug into your skin and you were sure by the end of it Kirishima’s marks would be prominent for the next week. The small amount of pain intensified your pleasure and the first orgasm crashed down on you faster than ever. You were hoping for him to give you a small break, your whole body on fire but he was far from being done.

Wrapping his lips around your sensitive spot he sucked slightly, pulling a sinful moan from the back of your throat which caused his rock hard dick to twitch in his grey sweatpants. Not yet, he thought, slipping a long, thick finger inside you, while lapping at your clit.

You didn’t expect to feel so filled by just two of his finger inside you. But it came to no surprise as just the palm of his hand is as big as your whole, two fingers as thick as four of yours. Two minutes, that’s how much it took to make you cum for the first time, moaning out his new nickname and pulling on his hair. Kirishima didn’t give you time to come, a break was the last he would think of in this moment. Before you knew it another wave of pleasure crashed down upon you, making your legs clamp down. Well, you tried, but he didn’t really had to try to keep them apart.

„Does that feel good? You like that?“ the question was rhetorical, your body had answered it long ago. Your fourth orgasm was about to hit anytime now as his mouth was glistering from your wetness, licking it all up. He wouldn’t really call it mocking, but it amused and aroused him at the time seeing you so fucked, not able to form a full sentence, yet alone answering his question.

And there it was. The knot in your stomach released itself, eyes rolling in the back of your head, a single tear sliding down the side of your face. Slurred words, a mixture of curse words, affection and his name made him feel as powerful as ever. He did this, only with his fingers and tongue.

„Tsk, would you look at that princess, you made a mess,“ was the first thing you heard after you came down from your high, the white spots slowly disappearing. With a heavy breath you looked down, watching as his cleaned his lower lip with his thumb before licking your juice off of it. Eijiro was right: he was wet, drenched even. Your lover made you squirt and the look of ecstasis written across his face was something you could never forget. „I’m sorry-,“ before you could say another word he pulled you up to him with his hand around your neck, locking your lips and pulling your lower body closer to him, allowing his now freed dick to slip in between your folds. Dragging it slowly up and down made you jolt and whine against his lips, trying to pull away as electric like shocks went through your veins, the pleasure overwhelming.

„That was the hottest thing I have seen. If I wasn’t this horny for you I would make you squirt again,“ he told you, chuckling slightly when he saw your eyes widening at the sight of his boner.

You knew he was big, at least nine inches, but it was his thickness that had you speechless. Without the foreplay there was no way he would fit inside of you and even now you knew he had to be slow at first or else you might pass out.

„Don’t worry, I will be gentle… At first,“ a small smirk graced his face, his tip now at your entrance. Laying down his soft sweatpants before laying you down he made sure you were laying comfortably. Thighs against his stomach, knees on his shoulders with his body towering over yours, almost touching but leaving enough space for Kirishima to look at him slowly slipping inside of you.

Drawing small circles on your thigh and clit helped soothing you as he went in inch by inch. He was taken by surprise when you pushed yourself onto him, taking in the last couple of inches at once. „So you want it that way huh? All you had to do was ask,“ with that he was lost in his own word.

His thrusts weren’t fast at first, they were hard, hitting your g-spot over and over and over again. Eijiro either went with a rhythm of song stuck in his head or did whatever felt right, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that you didn’t want him to stop. As quick as you put your legs down to lessen the immense pleasure, as quick he had both of your ankles in his hand, putting them over his right shoulder. Thick fingers caressing the soft flesh of your neck, feeling your pulse against the tip of his fingers, before wrapping around your throat completely. With the current position your pussy was even tighter, giving him the opportunity to hit deeper than before. Whenever he was balls deep inside of you wet slapping sounds filled the room, just like a mix of the moans of the two of you. Your scents mixed together, his room spray not standing a chance, even though your favorite smell hit your nose once in a while. What a funny coincidence, you thought later on.

„M about to cum,“ you slurred, a particular hard thrust sending you over the edge yet again, your throbbing cunt adding to his lust. „Who do you belong to? Who’s your daddy?“ He grunted, as his hips were snapping again and again. Your neck was released for a short moment to wipe away the few tears at the corner of your eye that just spilled over the edge.

„You, ah, you Eijiro,“ the o was quickly blending with yet another moan. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was a son of Eros. He definitely looked like a half god the way he was pounding into you, body glistering from the film of sweat and red strands of hair framing his face perfectly.

„That’s right, you’re mine. Only I can fuck you this good, only I can love you, only I can touch you,“ he said through gritted teeth, his possessiveness coming through. Kirishima could feel himself getting closer and closer to his own orgasm, dick twitching and hips titubating as your walls tightened around him.

„Mh, my good girl, just a little more, you can take it,“ you shook your head, feeling slightly dizzy and have one thought in your head: his name. There wasn’t even energy left in you to close your mouth properly. Something he saw as an invitation, his middle and ring finger slipping inside, your moans sending soft vibrations through them straight to his still hard length buried inside your cunt.

So many possibilities for him to cum on. You would look so pretty with his cum on your stomach, or when it drips from your face onto your chest. Your ass would look delicious that way too. One day he will find out what his favorite view is, but the first has to be special. He had to fill you up, mark your insides, had to make you his out and out.

„Let go, it’s okay. Daddy got you,“ finally. Your nails dug into his skin, vision blurry as your body started shaking from the last wave of pleasure for the night. He let go himself at the same time, pumping you full with his cum, a few lazy strokes following before he halted, his cock still inside you. Deep, shaky breath helped him come down from his dream like orgasm. Your pussy was magic, nobody could convince him otherwise. Maybe this won’t be your last time for tonight, maybe he will have you again once you laid down in bed. For now all he wanted to do was to hold you close, care for you and make you feel his love for you.

Pulling you into his strong arms he pulled out a bottle of water, taking a few sips himself before slowly letting the cool liquid hit your mouth and throat. Soft words of affirmation were whispered in your ear while he petted your head, massaging your scalp softly and kissing your forehead.

„You did so well for me baby,“ Kirishima mumbled against your lips, making sure you took another sip of water. You were still in bliss when he carried you to the bathroom, filling up the bathtub and sitting down with you between his thick thighs. While he was gently cleaning you realization hit him: Finally, after all this time you were with him. This wasn’t another dream. This was reality.

It broke his heart to see you cry the next morning when all the doors were locked. You told him you loved him too and you never would want to leave his side under no circumstances. He believed you, you would never lie to him. But the outside was too big, too scary for you. The intruder could still be after you and try to take you away from him. Kirishima knew you will forgive him eventually, after all he loves you and that should be enough for you. He is enough for you. You will understand eventually. He couldn’t risk loosing you again.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

[nctrenjunie]

hyuck convincing you to ride him while you’re on your class zoom call because you don’t need to have cameras on. he’s fucking up into you while you’re sat on his cock in his gaming chair because it’s so much more comfy, according to him, and teasing you relentlessly. his hand moving around your body, fingers rubbing your clit harshly everytime you had to turn on your microphone to speak. ten minutes before the end of the lesson, his hand snakes around your neck and he thrusts up into you, hard, fast and rough. you cry out, leaning forward to hold onto the desk for support as you come closer and closer to your high when you hear it “right, everyone turn your cameras on for this last task. i’m gonna be asking you all questions about the homework” your eyes widen, urgently whispering hyuck’s name. he hums into your ear, not slowing his hips or showing any sign of stopping. “we both know that’s not what you call me when i’m fucking you, baby” he speaks, pounding into you with even more force, rendering you barely able to talk “m-my professor said-” “i heard what your professor said baby. turn on your camera. show your entire class how much of a filthy little slut you are for me. show them how this perfect a star student cums all over my dick, huh? you’d like that wouldn’t you? everyone seeing the perfect little teachers pet coming all over her boyfriends cock during her class?” you whine loudly, your walls clenching tightly around him. “fuck! yes daddy!” he tightens his hold on your neck, he knows you’re gonna cum. “y/n, we’re waiting on you to turn your camera on...” your professor presses but you can barely hear him. it’s only when hyuck stops all movement, reaching down and reclining his gaming chair all the way down so he was laying flat, out of the view of the camera and you were sat atop his dick, in perfect line with your laptop, that you realise what he wants. you try to move, but hyuck’s hands dig tightly into your hips, holding you in place. “go on, baby. turn on your camera.” your shaky hands reach over to the laptop, clicking the camera button as you let out a shaky breath. your face appears on the screen, flushed pink and sweaty. you plaster an obviously fake smile onto your lips, turning on your microphone for a few seconds before turning it off again when hyuck moves his hips underneath yours, causing his dick to brush the opening of your cervix. “sorry, i had tech issues”

let’s just say that those last 10 minutes of class felt like an eternity and hyuck made sure of it. you thought you’d done a good job of hiding it until hyuck’s friend jaemin, who was in your class, sent him a text: “fucking your girlfriend during her zoom class, nice one dude. might wanna make sure you actually hang up after the teacher’s left next time!”

needless to say, nobody in class called you a teacher’s pet anymore

Okey sis can I just praise you for this!!! This is art!!!😱❤

I literally went through my tumblr asks yesterday in my last videoclass and I was shooook!!!

You made me so happy with it because IN MY OPINION: I think riding Haechan is probably the best way you can imagine to fuck haechan and second of all he is such a brat. Doesnt matter if he's sub or dom, this man will either way, always be a fucking brat.

I don't have any other words to say than this is perfect, I love it and I support this dirty idea and now it will forever live rent free in my head!!🙃🥲❤

This aks is from @jisungsdreamy if you wanna check her out!!

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 65

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Link to ongoing Taida Translations

Chapter 65: Doctor

Lin Qiushi could tell Ruan Nanzhu was furious, and typed: calm down, they're not worth it.

Ruan Nanzhu went silent, but then flashed a cold smile. He didn't reply to Lin Qiushi. It seemed he'd thoroughly taken down these people's names in red—come the appropriate opportunity, he'd be ruthless about getting revenge.

Feng Yongle stood beside them, looking at the 502 door tag in Ruan Nanzhu's hand with a look of fright. He stammered, "are we keeping that thing here?"

Ruan Nanzhu, coolly, "of course we can't keep it here." The tag would probably draw something over; though it wasn't on their door, it still wasn't safe.

"Then what do we do?" Feng Yongle asked. "It's almost eight." Once it was eight, they couldn't go out.

Without speaking, Ruan Nanzhu left the room with the door tag in hand. He went across the hall.

It was an empty room across from them. Nobody was staying inside. It was locked, but Ruan Nanzhu easily opened the lock on the door. After putting the door tag inside, he closed the door again.

"We'll keep it there temporarily," Ruan Nanzhu said. "And get it out when it's useful."

Feng Yongle let out a breath of relief. "Those people were too much. How could they think to do something like this?"

If it hadn't been for Lin Qiuqiu's sharp hearing, they'd likely have been a goner here.

Ruan Nanzhu eyed the dawning night outside, and said, "let's sleep."

It was eight; though it was still early, the sky was already completely dark.

There wasn't a single rustle in the entire sanatorium, as if even the patients who were so restless by day had grown afraid of this darkening night.

Lin Qiushi lied in bed playing on his phone. Ruan Nanzhu, in the bunk above, was quiet—it sounded like he was asleep already.

After playing for a while, Lin Qiushi grew drowsy. Just as he set his phone aside to get some sleep, he jumped, whole-bodied—he’d heard the sound of knocking.

Feng Yongle wasn't asleep either, looking frightened. Clearly, he'd heard it too.

Dong, dong, dong. The knocks were loud, coming from the door across from theirs.

Lin Qiushi and Feng Yongle's gazes met. They both saw relief in each other's eyes… Good thing they'd put the door tag back. Whatever was stood there knocking, it definitely wasn't human.

Dong, dong, dong! The knocks grew fiercer and fiercer, before finally, there was the sound of the door breaking. Lin Qiushi very clearly heard the door across from theirs open, and then—perhaps after discovering there was nobody inside the room—three or four minutes later, the sound of high heels sharply clacking along the hallway floor.

These noises came near from afar, then gradually disappeared. Lin Qiushi's heart in his throat also slowly lowered.

Sleep, sleep… Lin Qiushi didn't dawdle this time, shutting his eyes to force himself to bed. But no matter how he turned he just couldn't sleep. Maybe his tossing and turning disturbed Ruan Nanzhu in the bunk above, because Ruan Nanzhu suddenly spoke: "can't sleep?"

Lin Qiushi looked at the upper bunk, not knowing how to respond.

A moment later, Ruan Nanzhu climbed down in his night clothes. Then he very naturally lied down in Lin Qiushi's bed.

He wore a long sleep shirt, and seemed a bit pale. When he lied down, his waterfall of black hair fanned out over the pillow. He turned his head, black eyes silently watching Lin Qiushi. This look made Lin Qiushi's heart skip a beat.

The Ruan Nanzhu in this moment seemed, at a glance, perfumed with fragility. But closer observation would reveal that fragility to be nothing but a hoax.

In those dark eyes was a profundity like a deep, serene lake, as if just by meeting his gaze, the heart was calmed.

Lin Qiushi felt a pair of hands hook around his waist. As he was still self-consciously shifting about, Ruan Nanzhu's face was already buried in the nape of his neck.

"Stop moving," Ruan Nanzhu said. "And sleep."

Lin Qiushi thought for a second, and stopped struggling. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep again.

Three minutes later, the two slipped to sleep in succession, leaving Feng Yongle alone with a woebegone expression… He wanted to squeeze in with them as well.

But squeezing in was impossible; if Feng Yongle really dared a squeeze he'd likely not survive the night. Though he had to note that the sight of the two young women entwined in sleep was lovely to behold.

Ruan Baijie had a sophisticated air, and seemed the mature type. But despite her pretty face, that air of hers made her seem hard to get along with. Lin Qiuqiu, on the other hand, was the completely opposite type. Her appearance wasn't top notch, but was still plenty eye-catching. Feng Yongle thought for a while for the adjectives: Lin Qiuqiu carried on her an aura of delicacy and worldly compassion. Her face was very small, and looked like a cute little animal. Compared to the dazzling Ruan Nanzhu, she was obviously harmless at a glance. Plus, with her disability, she couldn't help but attract some people with particular agendas.

In the middle of his thoughts, Feng Yongle grew sleepy as well. He closed his eyes, and his breathing evened out.

At midnight, the sound of heavy falling once again came.

But they'd learned their lesson from the night before; after everybody had been woken up, they lied calmly in bed without much movement. Lin Qiushi woke for a bit, then closed his eyes again and returned to sleep. Ruan Nanzhu the Sleeping Pill Fairy was indeed impressively effective—there was no concern of sleeplessness at all.

They slept all the way until the next morning, when Lin Qiushi got up refreshed and energetic.

As soon as he got up he was met with Feng Yongle's plaintive gaze, and startled.

"Good morning," Feng Yongle said. "Didn't you hear anything last night?"

Lin Qiushi nodded to signal he did.

"Then why didn't you two wake up?" Feng Yongle asked. "That thing was scary as shit. It just kept jumping, I couldn't sleep at all."

Lin Qiushi was silent. Really, his hearing ought to be better than Feng Yongle's. But if he'd been fine with something Feng Yongle had been woken up by, the credit had to go to Ruan Nanzhu.

Ruan Nanzhu lazily said, "it's enough to be alive isn't it? You're asking for too much." He cuddled over and kissed the shell of Lin Qiushi's ear. "Time to get up, baby."

He kissed Lin Qiushi into shivers. Lin Qiushi's ears were very sensitive—a single touch made his whole body tense up. But Ruan Nanzhu seemed to have discovered this, and just got worse in his teasing.

Lin Qiushi condemned with his eyes: you're taking advantage of me not being able to speak.

Ruan Nanzhu replied with his eyes too: you're wrong. I'd do this to you even if you could speak.

Lin Qiushi: …

He was speechless. Ruan Nanzhu beamed as he got up to wash.

Feng Yongle couldn't tell the turbulent interchange between them, and was currently feeling moved by their "deep sisterly love."

Lin Qiushi sighed, and gave up on pursuing the matter.

As the three ate breakfast in the dining hall, they began to discuss the sounds from yesterday.

Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu both expressed they hadn't heard, so only Feng Yongle, grimacing, could say, "I think I know what's the deal with that door tag."

"What is it?" Ruan Nanzhu took a bite of a hard-boiled egg.

"The jumping sounds came from across the hall," Feng Yongle said. "So I'm guessing, maybe the nurse will jump once from whichever room that has that number." As for what happened before she jumped… It didn't take much thought to know it would be nothing good.

Ruan Nanzhu, "oh, I see."

Feng Yongle, "aren't you shocked at all?"

Ruan Nanzhu, oddly, "we already know you'd die, it's just a different way of dying… Why be shocked?"

Feng Yongle was speechless.

Indeed, that 502 door tag clearly meant death. As for how you died, that did seem less important.

Leaving after their meal, they bumped into Jiang Yingrui and his team. Among them was the trembling Xue Zhiyun, who'd been caught red-handed yesterday doing something nasty.

Lin Qiushi thought he'd be a bit awkward—but unexpectedly, he still greeted them with a shameless grin.

But this time, all three of them ignored him, just passing him by like air.

Considering Ruan Nanzhu's expression however, Lin Qiushi had cause to believe that were it not for the fact that murders made ghosts here, Jiang Yingrui would already be dead by Ruan Nanzhu's hands many times over.

Feng Yongle muttered under his breath about these shameless fucking bastards…

Faintly, Ruan Nanzhu smiled. But there was no humor in his eyes. "There's no rush. Plenty of days ahead of us yet."

The sanatorium was too big. Yesterday, they'd only roughly browsed a few floors, and hadn't managed a detailed search. They planned to continue that today.

But after walking into the sanatorium, Ruan Nanzhu stood on the first floor and contemplated a while. "Have you guys discovered this sanatorium is missing something?"

Lin Qiushi: missing what?

Ruan Nanzhu, "we didn't see a single doctor all of yesterday, did we?"

As soon as Ruan Nanzhu said this, Feng Yongle clapped in realization. "That's right, we really didn't see any doctors, only a few nurses—" And those had all been indifferent, looking to have not seen them in return at all.

"So what about the doctors," Ruan Nanzhu said.

Lin Qiushi thought over the building's zone map they saw on the first floor yesterday, and typed: I remember the sixth floor's the doctors' offices, right?

Ruan Nanzhu, "yes."

Lin Qiushi: they'd seemed to be all locked. We'll take a look upstairs again?

"Sure," Ruan Nanzhu agreed with Lin Qiushi's suggestion.

The truth was a large majority of the rooms in this sanatorium were locked. Wanting to search room-by-room was pretty much impossible. So they could only look for a targeted room, then unlock it for inspection.

Lin Qiushi counted himself lucky to have Ruan Nanzhu at his side, and began to seriously contemplate learning the art of lock-picking once he was out…

Most of the other floors were populated by patients. They wore hospital gowns, some wandering idly through the halls, some sitting silently in the corners. Some mumbled to themselves, as if in conversation with something nonexistent. A place that was meant to treat lung diseases seemed more like one large mental hospital.

But the sixth floor was quiet. There were no patients and no nurses. The entire hallway was steeped in a kind of dim lighting, like a reel from an old movie.

Once he reached the sixth floor, Ruan Nanzhu first found the Dean's office.

The Dean's office was in the center of the hallway. The door was closed, and they couldn't see inside.

Ruan Nanzhu, "move."

Lin Qiushi and Feng Yongle both turned their shoulders to let Ruan Nanzhu open the door.

Two to three minutes later, the lock before them opened with a click. Ruan Nanzhu didn't immediately push the door open, instead very carefully cracked it to inspect the situation inside.

The room was quiet, and seemed harmless.

He searched the wall beside the door and found the room's light switch. With a soft clack, a ghastly pale light illuminated the entire office.

Lin Qiushi followed Ruan Nanzhu inside. Once inside, his gaze was immediately caught by the wall.

The wall before him was packed with a constellation of memorial portraits. Every figure in the portraits looked cold and rigid, their chilly gazes shooting right out the frames. And they all seemed to have one thing in common: they were all wearing doctors' scrubs.

Lin Qiushi very quickly noticed that on the highest point above the wall of portraits, there was an empty photo frame.

The three stared at that frame and sank into silence.

"Who's it left for?" Feng Yongle laughed humorlessly.

Nobody knew the answer to that question.

After examining the picture wall for a while, Ruan Nanzhu turned his gaze elsewhere. The three began searching inside the room. It quickly yielded results. In the corner of a drawer, Lin Qiushi discovered a photograph. In the photograph was a middle-aged man, handsome enough, with a head of short blond hair. He had on a calm smile. Most notably, he wore a doctor's scrubs.

Lin Qiushi held this photo, searched the wall, and indeed, couldn't find this person's portrait.

"It's not here," Ruan Nanzhu concluded.

"So the empty one was left for him then…" Feng Yongle said. "What if the key's in the frame?"

Ruan Nanzhu thought this over. "Take the frame down and see."

Feng Yongle nodded, found a chair, and climbed on. He reached up, took the frame, and lifted it off the nail.

"It's just an empty frame," Feng Yongle said. "Doesn't seem anything special." He turned it over, back and forth, and didn't see anything noteworthy on the frame.

Lin Qiushi had been looking down at the frame as well, but all of a sudden felt a buzz in his body—he'd sensed a strange line of sight. He looked up in suspicion, following the sightline. When he got a good look at its source, a chill ran down his back.

Because what was staring at him was the memorial portraits on the wall.

The gaze of these portraits went from looking ahead to peering askance. Practically every portrait was staring at them out of the corners of their eyes. With their stiff pallor and lifeless gazes, Lin Qiushi got an unpleasant feeling. He immediately reached out and gave Ruan Nanzhu's sleeve a tug.

Ruan Nanzhu noticed the change in Lin Qiushi's expression, and looked where he was looking, immediately noticing the change in the portraits.

And that change was intensifying as well.

The eyes of the portraits slowly began to move, like the dead inside the frames were coming back to life. The frames had begun to shake as well. Lin Qiushi stared with wide eyes—he could see a person in a portrait slowly lifting its hand, looking like it wanted to climb right out of the photograph.

For a normal person, a sight like this would definitely cause panic.

But Ruan Nanzhu was very experienced. He glanced at the frame in his hands—and then his next move was to climb up on the chair and return the empty frame to its original spot.

Once the frame was back in place, all the changes stopped.

The people in the portraits returned to those indifferent expressions, eyes gazing lifelessly forward. It was as if everything they'd just seen had been an illusion.

Feng Yongle wiped at the cold sweat on his brow, and swore, "fuck, that scared me."

Fright lingered in Lin Qiushi's heart as well.

Ruan Nanzhu, "the key might be in the frame."

"But didn't we just check?" Feng Yongle huffed. "There's nothing in the frame at all..."

Ruan Nanzhu glanced at him. "Isn’t the frame's missing something thought?"

Feng Yongle startled.

Lin Qiushi knew what Ruan Nanzhu meant. The frame was indeed missing something—missing the portrait that should be in it.

"It's missing the portrait?" Feng Yongle figured out as well.

Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

"Then where are we going to find the portrait?" Feng Yongle's chuckle was pained. "The sanatorium's so big…"

"We'll find it," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Let's get out of here first."

They left the Dean's office, and Ruan Nanzhu closed the lock behind them.

They seemed to have a clue about the key, but still none for the door. They browsed through the entire floor, searching in every corner, but they didn't find any hint of any tunnel.

Just as Lin Qiushi thought they weren't going to have a breakthrough, Feng Yongle made a new discovery: he found a room.

That room had been locked, but somebody had broken that lock. And so Feng Yongle pushed the door right open.

That push was enough to terrify him—in that big wide room were piles and piles of black bags. From the shape of the bags, they were clearly body bags for holding corpses.

"Fuck—" Feng Yongle called for Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu in a hushed shout. "Come look, hurry!"

Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu came to the room door, and saw also these piles of stacked bodies.

"Don't they take care of these bodies?" Feng Yongle mumbled.

Ruan Nanzhu frowned. "What did you just say?"

"I said, don't they take care of these bodies at all—" The stench of rot had already permeated the room, and smelled particularly nauseating. "What is it?"

Ruan Nanzhu said, "maybe this is a way out. If they have to clear out the bodies…"

Lin Qiushi understood: you mean what that tunnel's for?

Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

Lin Qiushi: there's a thought.

In the background from the hint, the tunnel was where bodies were gotten rid of. If the stacks of body bags before them had to be taken care of, then they'd have to be brought to the tunnel. All the humans would have to do was follow.

Though this was now a possibility, it wasn't easily implemented, since they didn't know when the bodies would be cleared out.

Ruan Nanzhu continued his analysis: "The lock here's been broken, so it's likely somebody else has also found this location. If they're smart enough, they'd have figured out the hint here as well."

There were lots of ways to take care of bodies, primarily burial or cremation. There was no crematory here, so it was likely the former.

But there were no grave sites around the sanatorium, so anybody smart enough was apt to understand there was another site for corpse disposal here.

And if anybody had figured that out, they were competition.

"I'll go ask the patients around here first, see if they know anything," Feng Yongle said. "We can't just wait around, after all…"

Ruan Nanzhu nodded in agreement with Feng Yongle's line of thought.

Then Lin Qiushi signaled that if they needed, he could guard this place on his own. He couldn't talk after all, and couldn't question anybody.

Ruan Nanzhu, "alright. We'll be around. If anything happens, make some noise and we'll come right over."

Lin Qiushi nodded in understanding.

The two went off nearby, while Lin Qiushi stayed put in a corner to see anybody else coming. After standing there for a while, Lin Qiushi saw the unexpected approach of a familiar figure. It was the one who'd tried to trip them up earlier, Jiang Yingrui.

Lin Qiushi froze a bit upon seeing him. Just as he tried to hide, Jiang Yingrui had already seen him from afar.

"Miss Mute." Jiang Yingrui approached Lin Qiushi, wearing a peculiar smile. "Is it just you here?"

Lin Qiushi watched him back in silence.

"Where are your friends?" Jiang Yingrui asked, standing in front of Lin Qiushi. "They're not with you? Leaving you alone in a world like this is very dangerous, you know."

If Lin Qiushi was truly a helpless mute woman, perhaps he'd feel fear, even terror when faced with Jiang Yingrui.

But Lin Qiushi wasn't, so against what were practically threats, his only reaction for Jiang Yingrui was a few blinks of the eyes.

"You're not scared?" Jiang Yingrui asked softly.

Lin Qiushi still wasn't reacting.

"Why aren't you answering me?" Jiang Yingrui was getting closer and closer to Lin Qiushi. The lack of space between them felt invasive, and Lin Qiushi's expression went cold. He pulled out his phone and typed: I don't have anything to say to you.

"You guys also saw that room?" Jiang Yingrui said. "It's all corpses inside you know…"

Lin Qiushi's expression: And? Fuck off.

"Say—" Jiang Yingrui's voice suddenly dropped in register. "—if I put you in a bag and throw you in that room right now, do you think they'd notice?"

This was over the line. Lin Qiushi stared coolly at Jiang Yingrui, contemplating beating him up for good riddance, when Jiang Yingrui switched to a smile. "Of course I'm only kidding. Miss Mute here is so cute after all, I couldn't possibly."

Lin Qiushi thought, you couldn't, but I could.

Jiang Yingrui kept up that smile. "You guys just came down from the top floor, didn't you? What did you find?"

Lin Qiushi watched Jiang Yingrui, expressionless.

"That's fine, don't tell me. We're about to go check it out ourselves anyways," Jiang Yingrui said. "I'll leave you to stand guard here then."

He waved at Lin Qiushi, turned, and walked away.

Lin Qiushi dashed forward and socked him right in the back. Lin Qiushi held nothing back; his kick sent Jiang Yingrui stumbling straight onto the floor.

"What the—" Jiang Yingrui was utterly shocked by Lin Qiushi's actions. He probably hadn't supposed that, with such a gentle appearance, Lin Qiushi could so something so rough.

Lin Qiushi just brusquely spat in Jiang Yingrui's direction, and held up a middle finger.

Jiang Yingrui, "…"

Seeing Jiang Yingrui stare, mouth agape, Lin Qiushi felt much more satisfied. He was thinking how mute people really weren't so well-off, since typing was all words and no presence—might as well shut up and just throw hands.

Angered, Jiang Yingrui began to laugh. "Don't think I won't hit a girl—"

Just as he got up off the ground, Ruan Nanzhu, who'd heard the noises, arrived. Lin Qiushi immediately threw himself into Ruan Nanzhu's arms with an ill-treated expression.

Ruan Nanzhu, "what the fuck did you do to my Qiuqiu?!"

Jiang Yingrui, "…" I'm the one who got kicked, why are you acting the victim?!

[Ch. 64] | [Ch. 66]

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 4: Uninvited

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

Peter didn't really wake up the next morning, because he hadn't really fallen asleep last night. He'd been incredibly tired, but his hair hadn't been able to lay flat and he hadn't been able to block out the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of Mr. Fowler's closet. He'd been it the entirety of the day and even throughout the night when Mr. Fowler stomped into the room and passed out on the bed. The lilting stumbles in his steps made Peter think he'd been drunk and had likely forgotten about the kid trapped in his closet.

So he hadn't really slept, but his eyes had been closed--the darkness of his eyes was better than that of the closet--until the door had finally swung open, allowing Peter his first full breath in almost a whole day. The dankness of Mr. Fowler's room was a thousand times better than the closet. An arm had grabbed his own, pulling him roughly to his feet and out of the closet. His legs had ached with the disuse, but he'd stumbled to his feet nonetheless.

"Are you going to talk back to me again, son?" Mr. Fowler had asked, a horrible pleasantness to his voice. Peter had shaken his head. Something had been shoved into his hands, and he'd fumbled only to realize it was his wallet. "There. The card doesn't work anymore, so you can have that piece of shit back. Now get out of here."

"O-okay. Thank you," he'd said, stumbling out of the room and into the bathroom that he'd been deprived of for almost twenty-four hours. Once he'd finished and washed his hands, he'd searched through his wallet.

His few crumpled bills had been taken, but the pictures stuffed inside had been left alone, and the black card had sat crammed in a pocket. He'd grabbed it with fumbling fingers, brows furrowing. It didn't work anymore? Had the man maxed it out? Peter had swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach as he thought about what the hell he'd bought to do that. Probably a lot of alcohol had been his guess.

He really, really hoped that Mr. Stark couldn't see his purchases.

After a quick shower, in which he'd had to sit down his vision had swam so much, he'd rushed out the door with his beaten up backpack swinging off of his shoulder. He knew he probably should have stayed to check on the other kids who'd had to listen to the fight last night and might need help with homework, but the teenager couldn't stand to be in that house for any longer. Everything smelled like Mr. Fowler's awful closet and he just needed to be out in the bright Sunday sun. He wanted to find just a little comfort in his shadow that he'd been deprived of the night before.

So he'd changed into his suit and swung around for most of the day, flipping for some overly excited middle schoolers and directing an old man from Ukraine visiting his son who lived in Harlem and ignoring the pain in his stomach. When there was a lull in the late afternoon, he strung a web between two buildings and just did as many daring flips and handstands as he could. It was a feeble attempt to distract himself from the events of the past few days.

Hits and threats from Mr. Fowler were nothing new, in fact, they were a staple in the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but last night had been different. He'd never been trapped like that in the group home. He'd always had a lot of free reign as long as he operated within the curfew and got his chores done, but yesterday was like someone had flipped a switch on that, and he was still reeling from the terror.

Or that could be the hunger eating through his stomach. Peter stopped flipping on the web for a moment, instead laying down and balancing himself on the thin string as his stomach growled so hard he flinched. He wouldn't even be getting anything today. When did his grounding end again? He was pretty sure it was Thursday, but he wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Fowler extended it after last night. Maybe he could stop by Ned's and get a granola bar or something.

The teenager looked down at the ground to stare at Mr. Stark's shadow, blinking as he realized it was no longer clothed in normal attire, or a sharp business suit, but rather the larger outline of what he could now identify as the Iron Man armor. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the man must be doing. Probably something really important.

Peter sighed, moving to sit up, when a sound made him pause. He cocked his head before finally turning in the direction of the mechanical whine to make out the Iron Man suit flying towards him.

Huh.

He tried to feign disinterest, laying back down on the web and placing his hands underneath his head as the suit landed on the nearest building rooftop and Mr. Stark stepped out, but Peter couldn't lie to himself about how excited he really was to see the man.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," he greeted from the web.

"Hey, kid."

"Um, thanks for the letter." Please don't ask about the card. Please don't ask about the card. "Are you sure about the phone, though? I mean, that thing looks like it could cost as much as a house."

"Keep it, kid, I gave it to you for a reason," Mr. Stark said, waving him off. Peter watched him warily as he sat down on the edge of the building, shuffling nervously. Peter smiled to see the man very clearly out of his element, as if he would let him fall anyway. "So, how's your day been?"

Peter shrugged. "Fine."

"No hangovers or anything?" Peter froze. "Can you even get drunk? Cap can't."

The teenager hesitated before answering. It was either 'I bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card' or 'My foster father bought a bunch of adult stuff with your credit card.' He wasn't sure which one was better, but there didn't seem to be much to win from lying, not that there was much to gain from telling the truth either.

"I don't know," Peter responded honestly as he sat up on the web to stare at the shadow on the ground. The imitation felt more comforting than the real thing at that moment.

"You don't know? You bought three hundred dollars of pure liquor."

"Three hundred--Oh, jeez. I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark blinked at him for a second before his gaze softened.

"You didn't buy any of that stuff, did you?" Peter shook his head. "Who? Andrew Fowler?" A moment. A nod. "Okay, I'll just deactivate that card and give you a new one."

"No, it's fine, Mr. Stark," Peter said, pulling his wallet out of his hoodie pocket and showing him the black card. "He gave it back. I think he was annoyed that it was, like, maxed out or something."

"Well, it is most definitely not maxed out--there's a lot more than three hundred on that, kid--but I'm glad you got it back."

"Thanks."

There was a minute of awkward silence before Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter.

"So, no tower yesterday?"

Peter suddenly remembered the little note at the end of his letter. He shrugged bashfully, mumbling, "Yeah, sorry, uh Mr--Mr. Fowler kept us pretty busy yesterday. Chore day, so."

"Wanna stop by now?"

Peter looked up at him in surprise. It was a wonder this man didn't hate him yet. The foster parents Peter had before Mr. Fowler had gotten sick of him pretty quickly, or just hadn't been very attached in the first place, while the majority of his teachers regarded him with either pity or disdain at his situation and record. As far as Mr. Stark knew, he had an accident-prone, snotty teenager as a soulmate whose favorite pass time was to be a juvenile delinquent.

And yet, the mechanic regarded him with a soft smile. A little strained, but welcoming nonetheless. It unfurled something in his chest.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Yeah!--I mean, sure sure, that'd be fun." Mr. Stark gave him an amused smile as the teenager stepped off of his web and onto the roof of the building. With a quick glance and a rare smile, Peter leaped off the roof, enjoying the way Mr. Stark yelped in surprise. Peter called, "Beat you there!!"

He did not, in fact, beat Mr. Stark to the tower. To be fair, the man was in a suit that flew faster than a jet and Peter was only propelled by physics and muscles.

The teenager watched from a short distance as the Iron Man suit paused in front of a higher point in the tower, faced him for a moment, and then dove through the window. He raised an eyebrow, but doubled down in catching up to the man, only barely managing to swing himself high enough so that he wouldn't have to crawl his way up more than a couple of stories.

Finally, just a few minutes later than Mr. Stark, he rolled through the window and landed hard on the floor just a little unsteadily, not that he cared in the slightest. There were much more interesting things to care about in that moment.

"Whoa..."

"You like it?" Mr. Stark called from across the lab. Peter nodded dumbly, staring, widemouthed, at the state of the art equipment decorating just about every inch of the room. There were cases of Iron Man armor lining the walls, robots rolling around--he managed a laugh at one with a dunce cap sweeping the ground with a broom inefficiently--and tables filled with projects Peter couldn't even begin to dream of. "You can take your mask off here, kid. No one's going to see you."

Mr. Stark's voice pulled him back to reality, drawing him further into the room hesitantly. He glanced at the man, but realized dimly that his spider sense had finally calmed down. This wasn't the danger he'd felt after being fished out of the lake, or the feeling that had been following him since, it was a normal calm mixed with just a hint of nerves.

He tugged his mask off.

Mr. Stark stared at him, a soft look on his face, before finally tearing his gaze away when Peter shuffled uncomfortably.

"Sorry, kid," he apologized. "Didn't mean to freak you out. Just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just nice to see you, Peter."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just offered the billionaire a strained smile and stepped over to the desk the man was standing at. He felt more than a little out of place, but his curiosity overwhelmed his discomfort as he glanced over a shiny metal case held lightly in the billionaire's hands in interest. Mr. Stark tapped it when he caught the boy looking.

"This, kid," he said, sliding it over, "is for you."

Peter caught it effortlessly, his fingers light and hesitant as he glanced from it to Mr. Stark, his head down.

"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark. You already--"

Mr. Stark interrupted by reaching over and pressing something on the case. It sprang open, spooking Peter enough for him to take a step back but holding his attention as he caught sight of the bright red fabric. The eyes were what really caught his attention, looking unreasonably cool and intimidating. Peter mumbled, "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

Mr. Stark chuckled. "Good thing it's yours."

"It's--" He gaped at the man. "Mr. Stark, I really can't accept--"

"Too bad," he interrupted. "It's a gift and it's rude to turn down a gift. So, there's a bathroom right over there if you want to try it on. Give it a whirl?"

After a moment of hesitation, he closed the case, thanked Mr. Stark, and headed to the bathroom to change.

  ---

When Peter stepped out of the bathroom in the new suit, Tony couldn't help but frown. He covered it up as quickly as possible, but the sentiment still remained as his eyes roamed over the kid. He was muscular, sure, but he was so thin that it practically hurt. The teenager's ribs were practically there just for him to count and worry about. He filed it away for later as Peter turned to look at him, the mask's eyes narrowing.

"Looking good, hotshot," Tony said. "How's it feel?"

"It's awesome, Mr. Stark," Peter responded, his hands held out in front of him as he tapped the webshooters. "It smells like a new car!"

Tony couldn't help his laugh. "If you think that's cool, just wait. Friday, Babysitter Protocol."

"Babysitter--" Peter cut off with a confused yelp as his suit lit up blue, the AI in his suit supposedly greeting him. The kid cocked his head. "Oh, hi. Nice to meet you too."

Tony turned away, letting the kid and the AI get acquainted as he pulled out his phone and ordered a few pizzas. Five might be enough. Steve had always eaten a lot, and even if he didn't manage to burn through the best pizza in the city, the kid could definitely use leftovers. He entered the order and shifted back to observe the kid again.

"--uh, Liz? No, no, that's weird. How about Karen?" A moment as he waited for a response. "Fun. Nice. Cool, this is so cool."

Tony smiled, unable to tear his eyes away from the kid. His soulmate. His little shadow. 

Peter turned to look at him after a few minutes, muttering a quick goodbye to the AI--Karen, he guessed--before tugging the mask off again. There was a hesitant smile tugging at his thin face. Much too thin. How many pizzas would it take to get the kid back to even a semi-healthy weight? Probably way too many.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Stark," Peter said. "I really can't thank you enough."

"Please, you can thank me by not thanking me. Pepper says my ego's already a little off of the charts." Peter laughed and Tony couldn't help his grin. "Wanna stay over for dinner? I ordered pizza."

Peter hesitated, but after a moment he answered, "Alright," which was so much better than the kid regarding him defensively or looking like he was constantly on the edge of running away again. And, as it turned out, Peter fit more easily into his life than he could have thought.

In barely thirty minutes, the kid was sat beside him at a desk filled with vials of web fluid and pieces of Iron Man armor, an old, frayed hoodie of Tony's slipped over the suit, and a stack of freshly baked pizza laid out in front of them. Peter sat in the chair next to him as the mechanic ran through the schematics of his suit, hanging on every single word.

"...most of the framing is between the protective layers of your suit, completely waterproof by the way, if you ever get yourself into another lake. You also have a parachute if you pass the three thousand feet threshold."

Peter glanced over his shoulder in surprise. "There's a parachute in this thing? How?"

Tony tapped his back where he knew the spider logo was. "A magician never reveals their secrets."

"Did you compress all the air out of it? Or build it into the wiring on the patch on my back somehow?"

"Both are true." He took a bite of pizza. "You're pretty smart, huh?"

Peter ducked his head with a shrug. "Sorta. I can figure out chemistry, but that's about it."

"I don't believe that for a second, but we'll stick with the modesty for now." Peter huffed out a laugh, spinning the hologram of his suit and staring at it in complete adoration. It dragged a smile onto Tony's face.

Peter had a sort of ruggedness to him, a desperate scrappiness, but it was embarrassingly easy to see that that wasn't all there was to the teenager. His rambles were fast and excited, his scarce smiles adorably bright and always lighting up his doe eyes. There was a kind of spark to Peter that Tony couldn't explain, and, though he was sorry that the kid was saddled with him, he couldn't have wished for a better soulmate.

Apparently, five pizzas ended up being a great number, because Peter ate everything Tony offered him. He was practically a human garbage disposal, though much more polite. Tony was glad that the kid was filling up, but it made him seriously question how much he was getting at that group home. After letting the kid get comfortable for about an hour, he voiced it.

"Do they feed you where you live, kid? I swear, you just put down over ten thousand calories."

Peter paused on the slice he was eating, swallowing before putting it back on the plate nervously, and Tony immediately regretted ever opening his big, fat mouth.

"Yeah. They--Mr. Fowler feeds us fine. Just, enhanced metabolism, so." He shrugged. It was said so nervously that it felt like an outright lie, but Tony left it alone.

"Okay. Good to know. Just make sure to use that card whenever you get hungry, kid. I'm not having my soulmate starve."

At his mention of being soulmates, Peter glanced over his shoulder to stare at their shadows. Right now they almost looked like their own shadows, mirror images of each other, but if you looked hard enough you could see the slight difference in hair texture and the distinctive widths of their shoulders.

"It must've been weird," Peter said. Tony glanced at him in confusion. "Not having a shadow. You didn't get one until I was born, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," Tony agreed. He swallowed as he admitted, "Thought I was broken for the longest time. It was the best day of my life when your tiny little baby shadow appeared at my feet... What about you? Always had a grown man following you around, huh?"

"That sounded creepy, Mr. Stark." Tony just grinned cheekily. "It was nice, actually, always having you there. Like--like a guardian or something."

"And now you've got the real thing." Peter rolled his eyes and Tony pointed at him. "Ah, there's that good ol' sass I was looking for. I was afraid I'd lost it."

"Uhuh. You're kinda weird, Mr. Stark."

"Right back at you, little shadow." Peter smiled at the nickname before glancing out the window where the sky was a deep russet red. "Time for you to head out?"

"Yeah. I've still got some homework to do."

The two stood up and walked over to the window. Peter moved to take the hoodie he'd been wearing off, but Tony stopped him. "Keep it. I've got plenty."

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm so generous. Have fun with the suit, kid, I'll see you soon."

"When?"

Tony paused, looking over at the kid who had only just begun to pull the mask over his head, hopeful eyes staring at him. He desperately wanted to tell the kid he'd pick him up from school tomorrow so that they could hang out in the lab again, but he knew he genuinely didn't have any time. He'd been putting off packing for a few too many days.

"After we move. I'll pick you up from school on Friday. We can go explore the compound together. Sound good?"

Peter nodded. "Yep. Real good, Mr. Stark."

"You can call me Tony, Mr. Parker," he joked.

Peter pulled the mask down and jumped out the window with a call of. "See you Friday, Mr. Stark!"

Tony's shoulders shook with laughter.

  ---

Friday. Peter couldn't wait for Friday. With a burst of excitement and energy he hadn't had in a while, Peter flipped in the air and let out a WHOOO! only catching himself at the last second before flipping back up.

"Wow, this suit is so intuitive!" he exclaimed, shooting another web.

"I am glad you think so, Peter," Karen responded, shocking him so bad he nearly let go of his web. Oh, yeah, he'd forgotten he had an AI now. Man, Mr. Stark was so cool. "I am currently taking feedback for the suit's systems in case anything needs to be changed on Friday. Would you like to rate the suit's webshooters?"

"Oh, full eleven out of ten, Karen. It's great."

"Thank you for the feedback, Peter, I have sent a note to Mr. Stark."

"Oh." Peter blushed. "You didn't have to tell him that, Karen."

"Why not? He has asked for feedback."

"No, it's not--" He cut himself off, sighing as he flipped himself into a large arc. "I just don't want to bother him. He's already been so nice to me."

"Mr. Stark has asked for feedback, Peter."

"It's not the--it's not the feedback, Karen," he tried to explain.

"I do not understand."

He spluttered and then sighed, waving it off. "Whatever. It's fine, Karen, just forget it."

"Of course, Peter. Would you like me to show you the quickest route home?"

Peter hesitated. He did have a lot of homework to do, and Eric probably needed help with his reading, but he had to swallow down fear at the thought of being in the same room as Mr. Fowler again. It was irrational--it was so stupid--and Peter knew it, but he couldn't stop the way his hands seemed to shake and his entire body quail.

"Actually, let's take the scenic route. Really test out the suit, y'know?"

"Of course, Peter. Planning now."

A blue line appeared on screen, leading Peter back to the group home. He muttered, "So cool."

Spider-Man was only halfway back to the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, finally across the bridge and back into his home territory, when his spider sense went off again. He immediately glanced down at his shadow, which had lengthened as the sun set, for some kind of comfort or guidance. But of course, there wasn't one. It was just a shadow.

A little put off by the shiver that had run down his spine, he attached himself to the side of the building, staring out over the street. Nothing too out of the normal. People hurrying on the sidewalk, cars honking down the street, and shadows following along aimlessly.

"Karen. What's going on?"

"What do you mean, Peter?" the AI asked.

"It's just--there's something wrong. Maybe--" At a second shiver up his spine, Peter turned to look at where his senses were directing him at the ringing of a bell.

It was a small bodega, its door swung open as two men stepped inside in unreasonably thick coats for the warm weather. He narrowed his eyes, and the suit zoomed in with him, scanning the men before they disappeared through the door.

"What's the time, Karen?"

"7:30."

"Alright, we're good then. Plenty of time." He swung over to the bodega, attaching himself to the wall above the door, out of sight of the occupants inside. His senses had yet to calm down, so he assumed that he was right about this being a robbery. "Ready to test out the suit, Karry Berry?"

"I am always ready, Peter."

"Y'know, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Does that mean I should assign you a nickname too?"

"Definitely! Think about it for a moment and get back to me after we do this," Peter exclaimed in an excited mumble, straining his ears to hear whatever was going on inside. There was the tense calm of nothing for a moment, and then a shuffle and a squeak followed by a spike in his senses. He muttered to himself. "Finally."

He kept his ears strained on the actions going on inside, dropping down in front of the door quietly to watch what was happening. There was a teenager at the register, her hands fumbling with the register while the two men from earlier in their dark coats pointed shotguns at her. He could see tears streaming down the girl's face, clearly terrified.

Peter crept forward, picking up on the muttered conversation inside.

"--just open the register, keep it quiet," the closest man said in a raspy voice. "Hand everything over nice and quick."

"It's--it doesn't open," the girl cried. "It doesn't open unless a purchase is made and--"

The man flinched forward. "Do I look like I care? Just open it!"

Finally having heard enough, Peter placed his fingers against the door and pulled it open as quietly as possible.

Ding!

Peter froze. Heads turned. Curses flew.

The superhero darted forward as the gun pointed at him, firing a shot that missed him completely as he dove behind a grocery aisle of gummies and pregnancy tests. Bodegas really were something. Peter crouched down, muttering under his breath, "Fuck that stupid bell."

"Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark to your predicament?" Karen asked.

"What? No! I can deal with this, Karen, just watch."

"I like the new look," came the voice of the man that had shot at him. "New government sugar daddy or something?"

Peter blanched. "I really wish that that would stop being people's first assumption. People can be platonic y'know!"

There was a scoff and the sound of something warping. Peter's eyes narrowed, peeking around the grocery shelf and then immediately ducking back. The man, the one who hadn't shot at him, had pulled out a large and glowing weapon that looked incredibly similar to the one that had been at the ATM robbery. Man, he was getting really sick of those things.

The teenage girl had looked okay, shivering behind the desk and thankfully not making any moves to alert the police, as far as he could tell anyway. The last thing he needed was cops showing up in such a tense situation. And his first time using the new suit! That would be just plain embarrassing.

"Platonic or not, I don't give a shit," Normal Gun Man said. "A new look isn't going to change your situation. So either come out, or we shoot you."

"I don't know if you can shoot me while I'm back here soooo."

There was a click and a squeak. "Yeah? What about her?"

Okay. So that was a little different.

Without hesitation, Peter stepped out from behind the aisle shelf, his arms raised half-heartedly in the air. The two men had ski masks over their face--not quite as fun as the Avengers masks, but it'd do--but he could still see the honestly nervous smile of the man holding the gun. Clearly he hadn't expected the arrival of Queens favorite vigilante.

"Good to know that you can comply," Normal Gun Guy said. Alien Gun Guy had the weird blue gun pointed at Peter, but the shotgun was still directed at the worker. He chose his target.

"Not really."

With a flick, he webbed the shotgun and slammed it into the wall. There was a startled scream at the same moment his hairs stood on end. Peter only managed to jump forward before he was encased in a blue light that gave him quite possibly the worst headache of his entire life. He hated the feeling of that stupid thing. He didn't quite know what it was, but it felt like something out of The Incredibles. Like Syndrome and shit.

"Ugh! This thing is so weird!" Peter complained in a warped yell. Alien Gun Guy gave him a brutish look and then swung him through the window.

Peter grunted as he crashed through the window, wincing at the clinking shatter of glass that broke under him, but, surprisingly, none of the glass managed to grab at him and slice through his skin, even as he was shot across the street from the force of the alien weapon, only stopping when he thudded against the wall. He groaned as the air was forced out of him.

At least the suit had kept him from getting cut.

"Ugh... The hell." The teenager shook his head, forcing himself back to his feet, clinging to the wall for just a moment as he blinked out dizziness. Remembering himself, he turned back to the bodega across the street, panicking when his head pounded. That wasn't from being hit, that was his spider sense.

The men ran out of the door, hulking along a cash register and a handful of cigarette packs, but the teenage girl had yet to leave and his head only pounded harder. Spider-Man dashed across the road, leaping through the already broken window, his breath catching as he caught sight of the purple thing sitting on the ground in the middle of the bodega. It whined, louder and louder.

Bomb. Bomb!

Peter's head shot around so fast he physically winced, but he caught sight of the teenager behind the counter. Working on instinct, he jumped over the counter as the whine reached its apex, wrapping his arms around the girl and pushing himself between her and the bomb. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth.

The world shook and she let out a surprised cry into his shoulder but didn't let go. Peter barely managed to hold down a whimper of fear. Be brave, be a hero. Be brave, be a hero. He could do it. He was fine.

He was fine.

Peter blinked his eyes open, moving carefully to peer over the counter.

"Dammit," he muttered. The rest of the windows had shattered, and just about every product in the store had been knocked back and now littered the ground. A tile fell from the ceiling, making him tense his shoulders. They'd gotten away. Some hero he was.

"I have a nickname for you, Peter," Karen said in his ear. He frowned in annoyance. Well, he had told her to tell him once the situation was over.

"Great," he snapped, stepping over the counter, his boot crunching on the glass. "What is it?"

"Peter-butter!"

"...Okay that's actually pretty good."

  ---

After double checking that the cashier was alright, Peter had fled the scene, cursing himself for how bad it had gone. Nobody had died, but that wasn't really the standard he was looking for. If anything, he'd really just made everything worse. Stupid, Parker, stupid!

The teenager sighed, dipping into the dark alleyway where his backpack had been left earlier. He grabbed it from under the crate of boxes where he'd hidden it, pressing the spider emblem on his chest, allowing the suit to cascade off of him. Frustrated, Peter ripped the mask off and untangled himself from the fabric at his feet, stuffing the items in his faded blue bag and jumping back into his own clothes, and, after a moment of hesitation, slipped into the hoodie that Mr. Stark had given him.

He pulled the bag over his shoulder and buried his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets in the direction of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys. His brows were furrowed and his face squished into a deep frown. He couldn't believe he'd been given a superhero suit by literally Iron Man and he'd screwed it up immediately. He chittered nervously at the thought of Mr. Stark seeing what had happened at the bodega and realizing just how shit of a superhero his soulmate was.

As he was debating the likely-hood of Mr. Stark taking the suit back and never talking to him again for his screw up, his phone buzzed. Hesitantly, Peter pulled it out to find two texts waiting for him. One from Ned and one from Mr. Stark.

He clicked on the one from Ned first. The text app opened up to show Peter a grainy picture of him in his new suit followed by Ned's message of 'Excuse me??? tf is this?? tell me everything rn or im going to die'

Peter smiled faintly, making a mental note to call his friend in a few minutes. With a deep breath, he clicked on Mr. Stark's message.

Mr. Stark: I saw the news. You okay?

Peter blinked. He wasn't mad? He chewed on his lip as he sent a response, 'All good. Sorry I freaked you out.' 

Mr. Stark texted back almost immediately, 'No problem. Just glad you're good. Text ya later, kiddo.'

And that was that, Peter supposed. No...no nothing, really. He'd expected a lot more resistance or opposition from the billionaire, but he wasn't mad that he hadn't gotten any. He was about to call Ned when his phone buzzed again.

Mr. Stark: 'P.S. You can talk to and text Karen through your phone. Knock yourself out, Peter-butter.'

Well, that was embarrassing. But still kinda cool.

With a shake of his head, he finally dialed Ned's number. His friend only picked up after two rings with a breathless greeting.

"Yo, what the hell is up with that suit? Did Mr. Stark make it for you? Are you super hero buddies now!!? Officially his sidekick!!?"

Peter smiled, shaking his head in amusement as he stopped at a streetlight. "Yeah, Mr. Stark made it for me. It's cool right? It even has an AI!"

"It has an AI!!? Please, please, tell me you'll let me look at it."

"Duh. Yeah, you can look at it. We can go to your house after school." Peter thought for a moment, thinking of the alien weapons. He'd messed up today, probably disappointed Mr. Stark, but if he could take the whole operation down... "Besides, I need your help with something."

Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art! 

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr;  passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta​ did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them. 

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

[femmeharringrove]

#68 on the prompt list!

068: "We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years."

this took me a minute i'm so sorry oof!!

If there's anything Billy's learned, it's that his cooking skill is nothing compared to the culinary prowess of his husband. Stefano Alexander Lorenzo Harrington (a mouthful, Billy knows, he was terrified of messing it up during their vows) is king of the kitchen, and Billy enjoys everything he cooks, but sometimes Steve's menu can be used to give insight to what he's feeling.

It's one of those funny little quirks that the blonde man fell for all those years ago. After Starcourt, after he nearly died, his father cut ties with him completely and Max all but literally dragged him over to Steve's place. Steve didn't like him back then, not that Billy ever gave him a reason to like him, but the moment Max explained everything his doe eyes softened and he offered Billy a room in his house on the spot. Billy spent countless nights after that feasting on baked ziti and lasagna - "with my own pasta, none of that pre-made shit," Steve pronounced proudly as he served Billy the biggest slice of pasta he'd ever seen in his life to that point; he's outdone himself several times in the years since - and at one point realized he couldn't live a day without Steve's cooking.

He couldn't live without that blinding smile either, or without the sight of Steve chasing the Party around like a distressed young mother, or without the feeling of being wrapped up in those slender arms, face tucked into the crook of Steve's neck as the taller boy promised to keep him safe from the monsters of this and any other world. Steve told his parents Billy was just staying at the house until he found his feet, but they ended up living like that for four years before an argument between the Harrington men got ugly enough to make Steve want to leave. And so they did, after helping Steve's hoard of kids move to their respective colleges. They found themselves a little apartment in Malibu and Billy went to college that same year.

It was hard, for a while. Steve was still unsure of what he wanted to do in life and Billy struggled to find a balance between classes, his job at the garage down the street, and time with Steve. They fought, they cried, and Steve always ended up smoothing things over with Billy's favorite soups, no matter how hot it was outside, and slowly things got better.

Billy proposed to his boyfriend two years after that, and a year after that they got married, unofficially, with Hopper officiating and the Party giving Steve away. They were married on the beach on September 6th, Steve cried all through the ceremony and they spent much of that night in absolute bliss, wrapped up in each other's arms. Billy swore that the date would be one he would never forget, how could he forget? Nobody forgot their wedding date.

They've been married nine years now. He's got his engineering degree and owns the garage down the street now. Steve's artistic streak led to him opening a studio and offering art classes on top of selling his own work. They moved out of the apartment after Steve curled up to Billy's chest one night and begged for a baby. They have three of those now, bustling six-year-old Antonia, quiet three-year-old Max, and two-month-old Angelo. All three are with Auntie Max tonight, who's also moved out to the coast with Lucas and El in tow, because tonight is a special night. It's September 6th, and he and Steve are supposed to be celebrating.

Except Steve's making tiramisu and cheesecake. He's making Alfredo with shrimp and chicken and spinach, which Billy loves but knows that his husband hates. In fact, this is Billy's favorite meal, which Steve only pulls out when he's got something important to say or when Billy's feeling down. And Billy's not feeling down.

It takes some work to steal the great Stefano's attention in the kitchen, but Billy's got almost two decades worth of experience here. He hums before he touches the man - years of touch starvation and a few too many bad experiences have left the man rather skittish, especially with unexpected touches, so Billy's careful to give him warning. He presses right up against Steve's back and wraps his arms around him, fingers of his left hand slipping up under his shirt to stroke over Steve's hip while the fingers of his right hand settle just under the waistband of the brunette's sweatpants, trailing over a sensitive patch of skin. From there it's all about the kisses - little ones to the nape of Steve's neck, lazy ones on the side of his throat, nips and playful bites to the shoulder. He nuzzles at Steve's cheek a few times in between that mix and Steve lasts all of two minutes before he's melting back against Billy and gazing back at him, eyes painfully warm and full with that adoring look he always gives Billy. For a moment, the blonde can't breathe, stunned for the billionth time by Steve's beauty. He presses a soft kiss to his plump lips, slow and full of love, before nosing along his jaw.

"What are you thinking about?" he questions. Steve hums, turns from his current task of slicing his pasta dough to wrap his arms around Billy.

"You," he hums, and Billy has no doubt to the validity of that answer, but he presses anyway.

"What else?"

"What are you talking about?" Steve's eyebrow arches and Billy takes that exact moment to realize that his husband's beginning to grey, his coffee brown waves of hair showing a little speckle of silver. At thirty-five, Steve isn't really old at all, but he's got other little signs of age. He's not a lanky teenage boy anymore. But he's as stunning as ever, and Billy's heart melts as they stare at each other.

"Pretty boy, you told me you think spinach in alfredo is a sin, but you're adding it in and you only do shit like that when you've got something to share with the class. So share." His eyebrow arch as Billy opened his mouth to argue, and he hides a smile as Steve backs down.

"Fine. Sit down, Papa Blue." It's Billy's favorite nickname, received after their son Max stole the nickn baby blue. Max is biologically his, thanks to a donation from Robin. She did the same with Angelo, though their latest baby is Steve's, all big eyes and fluffy hair. Billy sits at his husband's request, and Steve sits across from him looking a little worried. "So, uh, you know how today is our anniversary?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Billy asks. Steve chews on his lip.

"Well, I called Hop this morning because he and Joyce wanna come meet little Jellybean," he begins.

"Angelo is gonna hate that nickname once he gets older," Billy warns. Steve shakes his head in amusement.

"No way, he'll love it. Or he'll at least have to tolerate it, because I'm not letting it go anytime soon. But that's besides the point. Hop and I were talking and he asked me what we did for our anniversary yesterday."

"Yesterday? Our anniversary is today, doesn't he remember?" Billy frowns as Steve runs his fingers through his hair.

"That's exactly what I said," he huffs. "But he was adamant we got married on the fifth, and so I went and checked."

"And?" Billy presses, terrified that he already knows the result. His husband bites his lip.

"And he's right. We misread the number on the date." Steve gives him a sheepish, frustrated look. "We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years."

"You can't be serious," Billy deadpans. Steve blinks at him.

Oh god.

It takes Billy seven seconds before he's snorting with laughter. Then he's flat-out snickering, and it doesn't take Steve long to follow. They laugh in the kitchen together until Billy's sides hurt and Steve starts to struggle for breath between his giggles.

"We've been doing it on the wrong day, what a bunch of idiots we are," Billy chuckles. Steve wipes tears of laughter away.

"Yeah, yeah," he chuckles, before his face morphs into something more apprehensive. "I'm sorry I got it wrong." Billy waves it off with one hand, a soft look settling on his face.

"Don't be. I've been making the same mistake. And I wrote the date down, I should have made my handwriting more legible." Billy's hand reaches over the table for Steve's. "Baby, I don't care that we've got the wrong date. All I care about is celebrating what we've got together, okay? I just want to celebrate the fact that I found someone who loves me more than I could ever deserve, someone who's stuck by my side through good and bad. I don't care what day we do that." He watches as Steve's anxious look melts into something significantly softer.

"Billy Hargrove, you deserve all the love this world has to offer and then some," he corrects gently. Billy's eyes crinkle softly around the edges as he smiles.

"And you've got more love in that mop on your head then the rest of the world could ever have." He stands and leans over to hold the other man's face in his hands, planting three quick kisses to his forehead. "Trust me, honey pie, you give me more love than I deserve. You give the whole world more love than it deserves." Steve's responding smile is bright and adoring, and Billy's heart melts even more.

"I love you, Billabong," he murmurs, stealing his own kiss from Billy's lips.

"And I love you, princess." They stay like that for a time, silent and content, before Steve speaks again.

"We're gonna get it right next year, right?" Billy laughs, nose wrinkling in his amusement.

"Of course. And every year after that. We can make it a two-day event, spend the first day bein' all romantic. I'm keepin' you in bed on day two, though." His smile turns into a familiar smirk. "Make you remember why you love having me around." He revels in the way his husband blushes violently, and Steve swats him away as he jumps up.

"You're a menace, Billy Hargrove. Leave me alone so I can finish cooking." He gets one last kiss before Billy backs out of the kitchen, and if he's got the same dopey grin on his face as he had in his twenties when looking at Steve Harrington, then it's neither here nor there.

[ghosttotheparty]

say my name and say it twice (cotton candy skies)

28. also on AO3 chapter twenty seven

It’s not that Lucas isn’t happy.

He is happy. Truly, really, entirely. He wasn’t expecting to be happy if he’s honest. He was kind of expecting to be alone for the most part. Moving in with a cousin he hadn’t seen in years, with two strangers he didn’t even know by name before the day he was moving boxes into his room, he wasn’t expecting to be very happy, wasn’t expecting to look forward to coming home in the evening, to play board games and cook while watching Milan and Senne slow dance to an upbeat, electronic song that’s in no way a song to sway to. He wasn’t expecting to have people who are actually supportive of his art, to have people ask to see what he’s working on, to have people ask questions, about how long it takes or what materials he uses. He wasn’t expecting people to surprise him with new sketchbooks (complete with a red, metallic bow, though it’s months until the holidays, thanks to Milan) and pencils.

He wasn’t expecting to have friends, wasn’t expecting to have a friend to talk about art with, to text about a work in progress that he’s having trouble with. He wasn’t expecting to have plans with said friend, plans to meet up at a cafe and bring sketchbooks, plans to hang out, something he hadn’t really done (except with Jens) since moving. Especially because he isn’t even going to school in person, he’d expected to spend most of his time in his room, studying and working and drawing and painting.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to have a boyfriend. He had honestly expected to not date, not even talk to anyone, until university.

But here he is.

Feeling more comfortable, more safe, more him than he’d ever felt before. No one asks about his nails, painted a sparkly, light pink, or about the thin black lines above his lashlines. (Jens had gazed at him as he spoke, his eyes flicking back and forth between Lucas’s before Lucas finally let out an exasperated “What?” at Jens’s distracted behaviour, forgetting he was wearing it. Jens had smiled and said quietly “The eyeliner looks pretty,” and Lucas had been so overwhelmed with joy, with relief, that he’d just leaned in and kissed him, forgetting completely about what he was telling Jens.) Nobody questions the sheer button-downs in the laundry room or the butterfly hair clips and makeup brushed scattered across his desk. Things he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in Utrecht, things he wouldn’t mention to his friends (except Ralph and Noah, maybe), things he would hide away in the back of his closet (he’s aware of the irony), things he would bury under other clothes, in boxes under his bed.

He doesn’t have to be afraid here, doesn’t have to hide, doesn’t feel like he has to hide. He leaves his things out, grins sheepishly when Zoë scolds him for leaving his makeup out in the bathroom because it gets mixed up with hers.

He feels safe. Secure. Comfortable. Limitless.

But when he remembers Utrecht, remembers Kes and Jayden and Isa and his other friends from school, his heart sinks a little bit.

They don’t know about this, about this new Lucas. They don’t know about the nail polish, the butterfly clips, about the eyeliner or the sheer fabric. When they think about him (though he’s beginning to doubt that they even do), they probably think about hoodies, skateboards, short hair, about him kissing girls at school.

They don’t know him.

Lucas sighs, falling onto his back on his bed. He tucks a hand under his head, refraining from chipping the polish on his nails, tanging his fingers in his hair.

He thinks maybe there’s a chance he won’t have to worry about it, about them not knowing him. He barely talks to them, save for a meme every once in a while from Isa. He hasn’t talked to Jayden since their last video call, since he told Lucas he seemed weird. Kes has sent him a “Hey” text but the conversation dwindled until it was gone in just a few minutes.

A part of him mourns it. A part of him grieves.

It feels like he’s losing a part of him, a part of his life. His childhood, the parts of his life that were there when he became human. (Although that still feels like it’s happening. Maybe being human takes time. Practice.)

He did manage to talk to them yesterday, Jayden and Kes, and they’d all managed to schedule a time to meet online. He’s been nervous, the same kind of nervous he felt when he had to break up with a girl from school. “It’s just not going to work with us,” he’d told her, feeling bad even though he knew there was nothing he could do to make it work. Somehow it feels the same right now. There’s the same pit in his stomach, the same lump in his throat.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to them.

He has no plans.

He covers his face with his other arm, his elbow covering his eyes, blocking out the light coming in through the window. It’s golden light, the afternoon just coming to an end, and usually, he’d be up at his window, watching the sun go down. But now his throat feels stuck, his stomach knotted.

---

It’s a while before they call.

His phone buzzes first, on the bed next to him, and he uncovers his face, forcing himself to get up in a bleary stupor, ignoring the way his heart rate picks up, ignoring the tremor of his hands as he sets his laptop down on his bed and sits criss-cross in front of it, ignoring the way he suddenly feels spacey, unfocused in his own mind.

Before he realises, both their faces are on the screen in front of him. He’s vaguely aware that his room might be too dim for them to see him clearly, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe this way they won’t be able to see the pink powder set across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Hi.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, man.”

Maybe it’s just Lucas’s anxiety, but it sounds like they know. Like they know what he’s about to tell them, what he’s feeling, dreading.

“I, uhm…” He swallows down his nausea, looking at them both, Kes to Jayden, Kes to Jayden, left to right, right to left, left to right, right to left. “There’s something I wanna tell you.”

“Okay,” Kes says, nodding, prompting.

Lucas takes a deep breath, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands, fidgeting.

“So I…” There aren’t any specific thoughts in his mind right now, nothing telling him what to say, how to say it, where to look, what to do. “I don’t really know how to say this.”

“Just say it,” Kes says, his face looking concerned. Jayden is quiet.

“I’m gay,” Lucas says, and then he can’t stop.

“And I know it might be weird or… yeah. It’s just, I’m out over here, in Antwerp, and I felt like I was lying to you because I’m different here than I was in Utrecht, but I didn’t want anything to change, but it feels like stuff was already changing, and I figured I couldn’t do anything about it so I thought… might as well.”

He looks up at them, pulling his eyes away from his quickly moving hands, where he hadn’t realised he was looking, and they both just look… blank.

“I mean we haven’t been talking much at all,” he continues, unable to help himself, his voice rapid, “and I thought maybe it was just the distance and it was weird at first but then it just turned into me thinking that you guys just didn’t like me and you were, like, waiting for me to leave, but it just got confusing.”

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feeling it desperate to get out even though, in a way, it’s just escaped.

They continue to stare. He thinks for a second that they’re frozen, that the connection is bad, but the fan behind Jayden continues to spin, Kes’s eyes continue to blink.

“I know we’re… drifting apart,” he says after a few painful seconds. “I’m not trying to fight it, I just… I just want you guys to know me. And it’s okay if we don’t talk anymore, like it’s not… I know how it is. I’m still…” He shrugs. “Grateful. I love you guys. And I always will, I’ll always be here for you, I’ll always have your back. But it’s okay.”

“Luc,” Kes says suddenly. “We don’t care that you’re gay. I mean, we care, obviously, but it’s not like it’s all we care about. It just feels like you’re so different.” He leans forward, looking away from the camera, from the screen, moving his hands as he talks.

“It feels like we don’t know you,” Jayden adds.

“Maybe you don’t.” He shrugs. “I mean, if I’m honest, it wasn’t like I was really me in Utrecht.”

Silence.

“What are you talking about?” Jayden asks in a small voice.

“I just…” Lucas shifts, pushing himself up before setting himself down again, uncrossing his legs before recrossing them, the left over the right, his shoulders tense, uncomfortable. “I’m gay,” he says, unsure of how to continue, how to explain himself.

“You said,” Kes interjects. “That’s fine.”

Lucas smiles softly before continuing.

“I’m gay, but I’m like, gay gay. Like you guys remember me with like, hoodies and—and stuff,” he stammers, averting his gaze and looking around the room. His hands fumble on his sleeves, tugging and rubbing the fabric as he tries to not let the walls close around him. “But I’m a fucking stereotype. I’m gay, and I like sparkles, and makeup, and sometimes I like to wear skirts. And I’ve always been like this, but I was so fucking embarrassed about it that I never, like… Did anything about it.”

His voice cracks at embarrassed. He doesn’t remember ever saying it before. He glances at the screen before looking away, feeling like they’re both sitting in front of him, in person, real. His eyes sting, and he swallows, choking slightly.

“But when I got here, there was no one I knew, and I didn’t feel like I had to be scared of being me. I didn’t feel like I had to worry about confusing anyone or making anyone uncomfortable, and I could just… exist like I wanted.”

“Luc,” Kes says at the same time that Jayden opens his mouth. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” His voice is soft, and when Lucas looks at him, his eyes look glassy on Lucas’s computer screen.

“Lucas, we love you,” Jayden says, and Lucas lets himself go.

He covers his face with his hands as his eyes squeeze shut, tears rolling down his cheeks, his heart pounding. The walls fall away. After forcing his face to relax, he takes a deep, shuddering, stuttering breath and drops his hands, looking to the screen.

Kens is wiping under his eye, smiling.

Jayden has his face in his hands, looking back at Lucas, who laughs lightly, not knowing what to do.

“Sorry,” he gasps, looking away as he wipes another tear from his cheek, rubbing the side of his covered hand across his face.

There’s a moment as they all collect themselves, wiping their faces, taking deep breaths, and it’s broken by Kes.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, looking at Lucas earnestly.

“For what?”

“For…” Kes pauses, his eyes squeezing shut, a hand covering part of his face. He takes a sharp breath before continuing. “Making you feel like you had to hide.” His voice is thin.

“Kes,” Lucas starts, leaning closer, shaking his head. “It wasn’t you, it was just…” He waves his hand vaguely. “Everything.”

“I hate everything,” Jayden says, and Lucas laughs.

“Everything’s getting better.”

They nod, and Lucas smiles weakly, wiping his face once again. His shoulders release, exhausted, and he rubs his face, suddenly drained. He takes a deep, heavy breath.

“Dude?” Jayden’s voice says, breaking for just a split second through the iffy connection, and Lucas looks at him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Lucas scoffs, grinning as he covers his face, his fingers pressed to his forehead. He hears Kes let out a loud “O-o-o-hhh…” and laughs harder, looking to the screen in time to see Kes pushing himself up and then laying down on his stomach after pushing his laptop away from himself, resting his chin in his hands. Lucas looks away, feeling his face burn.

It’s back.

Everything he’d missed with them, every time he wished he could talk to them, tell them something. Every time he’d wanted to text them, call them, hear them. Every opportunity he’d skipped, every chance he hadn’t taken. Here it is.

“Tell us!” Jayden exclaims, interrupting Lucas’s thoughts and soft smile.

“He, uhm…”

“What’s his name?” Kes prompts.

Lucas pauses, looking away, still smiling, biting his lower lip.

“Jens.”

“Jens…” Jayden repeats. “Tell us about him.”

“He, uhm…” Lucas says again, laughing at himself. “He’s great.”

Jayden waves his hand, trying trying to prompt him, but when it shows to be unsuccessful, he says “In what way?”

“Oh, Jesus…” Lucas falls onto his back, looking up to the ceiling. He hears them both laugh. Maybe he was also missing something like this; being able to talk about Jens freely, as his boyfriend, not having to worry about skipping over anything that would make him seem like anything more than a crush. “He’s just amazing,” he says, sitting back up and looking at them. They’re both grinning, and Lucas can almost see the familiar gleam in Kes’s eyes through the screen, the gleam he used to be so captivated by.

Jayden waves his hand again.

“He’s…” Lucas sighs. “Nice, and kind, and considerate… He’s so gentle.”

They both smile, not saying anything.

“He’s so funny,” Lucas continues. “He has a dumbass sense of humour, I think you guys would get along with him.” He ignores the simultaneous “Hey!”s, and suppresses a smile. “He can always make me smile, it’s incredible.”

“Are you in love with him?” Kes asks.

Lucas is quiet for a second, his eyes unfocused, a mindless smile lingering on his face.

“I think so.”

Jayden lets out a soft squeal and Lucas laughs out loud.

“You think so?” Kes says, ignoring it. “You don’t know?”

“I think I am. We haven’t…” Lucas sighs, leaning back on his hands. “We haven’t said it.”

“Why? How long have you been together?” Jayden asks.

“A while. We met a little after I got here.”

“You don’t have an exact date?”

“Not really. We were like… flirty and stuff from the start. And I kissed him and then we didn’t really say anything about it. But it was still there, like the thing between us. You know?”

“So why haven’t you said it?” Kes asks, his brow furrowed with curiosity. “If you’re sure?”

“I just don’t think I really have to, I guess.” He leans forward again, dropping his hands in his lap. “I mean, he knows how I feel about him, I know how he feels about me. It works.”

“That’s really cute,” Kes says softly, and Lucas gives him an exaggeratingly sweet smile, shrugging a shoulder up until it presses into his cheek.

“Are you guys alike?” Jayden asks.

“You mean are we both flamingly homosexual?” Lucas says with a laugh.

“I—Sure.”

“Uhh…” Lucas takes a deep breath, leaning and stretching his back before sitting the way he was before, his back hunched over. “He’s bi. And also, like, more masculine than me. Except…” He almost giggles, pressing the backs of his fingers to his cheek, trying to suppress his smile.

“What?” Kes’s voice says.

“He’s a ballet dancer, but other than that he’s more masculine than me.”

“Oh my god.”

“Da-a-amn, Lucas.”

He giggles for real this time, covering his face, his eyes scrunching up under his smile.

“Have you seen him dance?” Kes asks.

“I’ve seen him do just like little combinations but I haven’t seen him do a full dance. But he got the solo in his studio this year, and he wants me to go to the recital, so…”

“Ooooo. Exciting,” Jayden says, clapping his hands together lightly. “When is it?”

“In a few weeks. He only just found out recently and we went to celebrate at a cafe with some of his friends. And I’m going over to his later today.”

“Oop, you know what that means,” Kes says with his eyebrows raised and his head tilted, his eyes on his own computer screen averting and Lucas knows he’s looking at Jayden. Lucas rolls his eyes as Jayden wiggles his brows and his shoulders, letting out another “Ooooo…”

“I’m gonna hang up on you.”

“No, don’t!” Kes says, holding a hand out like he can stop him.

“How’d you meet?” Jayden asks after taking a second to stop laughing.

Lucas sighs before getting into it.

“So I like to just wander the city, right…”

---

A few minutes after they hang up, Lucas’s phone vibrates. It’s on his bed, and he’s setting a canvas against the wall on his desk, so he finishes first, making sure it’s set securely and won’t fall. As he’s slowly pulling his hands away from the painting (a messy abstract in oils), his hands open in front it, ready to catch it if it falls, he hears it vibrate again. He waits for a second, and the painting doesn’t fall, so he turns and lays on the bed, expecting a text from Jens.

But it’s from Jayden.

I’m sorry about what i said last time

Lucas pauses for a second before responding, forgetting what he’d said in the high of having finally talked to him and Kes, for real.

it’s okay

Jayden begins typing just a second after, and Lucas waits, his eyes focused on the screen.

no it’s not, i was mean

As Lucas begins typing, Jayden types again.

youve changed but its a good change

Lucas smiles softly.

i only really changed visibly, ive always been like this

youre right, ik you seem happier im happy for you im proud of you

Lucas almost laughs, imagining how Jayden cringing at himself sending these messages. But they seem heartfelt.

thanks, jayden

His smile softens as Jayden responds.

i love you, man and i support you and im here for you and i will NOT HESITATE to fight jens if he hurts you

im not expecting him to but thank you anyway i love you too

--- Lucas only gets nervous after he’s knocked.

A sudden burst of anxiety erupts in his chest, realising he doesn’t know whether Jens’s mom and sister have left yet. He does hope they have, of course, but as he waits, not hearing anything from behind the front door, he tries to think of what he’d say if one of them answered.

Lotte, he figures, would probably recognise him as the FaceTime guy. Whether she’d say hello, or say anything to imply that she knows him, he doesn’t know. Jens’s mother would probably as who he is, and, if he’s honest, would probably be taken aback by his appearance.

He’s wearing a pink sweatshirt, for starters, his favourite one, with little ruffles at the shoulders, and a hood, though it isn’t pulled over his head right now. His hair is kept out of his face with a silver hair clip (he decided not to use the pink one because it didn’t match the sweatshirt), and there’s purple eyeshadow brushed on the outer corners of his eyes. (“If you ever want to borrow some lipstick, let me know,” Zoë said, watching him as he focused, his tongue touching his lip, the small brush blending the purple into his skin.)

The corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles when it’s Jens who answers the door, after taking a quick sigh of relief.

“Come inside; you’re not cold?” Jens asks, tugging Lucas in by his sleeve. He presses a quick kiss to his mouth as he shuts the door behind him.

“This sweatshirt is really warm, actually.”

“Hm.”

Lucas wraps his arms around Jens’s neck, kissing him again, slower, smiling softly against his mouth. Jens pulls away, smiling as he looks at Lucas, his eyes going back and forth between Lucas’s. He brings his hands up and pushes a curl out of his face, gently taking down the barrette and clipping it again with the curl. When he drops his hands to Lucas’s shoulders, he’s quiet, his eyes soft.

“What?” Lucas whispers.

“You look pretty,” Jens says softly. His thumb brushes gently, so gently Lucas almost can’t feel it, under his eye, touching the purple. Lucas smiles, his face blooming pink, and lifts his chin, asking for a kiss.

“You have a good day?” he asks when they part, and Jens nods, pulling him down the hall to his room.

“I had a long day,” he says, “because I was waiting the whole time to see you.”

“Aw, baby…” Lucas pouts his lower lip out, batting his eyelashes until Jens snickers, pulling Lucas in by his waist. As their lips touch again, Lucas’s hands slip up to his head, his fingers tangling in his hair and tugging as Jens’s tongue slides between his lips.

He tastes sweet, and Lucas hums into his mouth, feeling Jens’s hand creep around his waist to the small of his back and then down his backside, sliding to the backs of his thighs and pulling. Lucas giggles, letting go of his hair and gripping the collar of his shirt as Jens picks him up, biting down on his lip gently, stepping across the room to his desk and setting him on it, tilting his head and sliding his hands down Lucas’s legs, leaving trails that are somehow simultaneously hot and cold in their wakes.

They pull away after a little bit, and Lucas’s heart swells upon seeing that Jens’s lips are red (and he assumes his own are too).

“Oh, guess what I did today?” he says softly, suddenly remembering what it was that he’d actually planned on telling Jens.

“Hm?” Jens’s eyes are half-closed, his hands firmly placed on Lucas’s hips, and Lucas sweeps his thumbs across his cheekbones.

“You remember my friends I told you about? Kes and Jayden?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He’d mentioned them to Jens, short anecdotes about Utrecht, stories about school and parties, also mentioning Isa and Liv. He’d told Jens about how he felt they were drifting apart, telling him about the call with Jayden and how he’d felt, how he was scared to lose them but felt it was inevitable.

“I called them this morning.”

Jens’s eyes open up a bit. His thumbs move in little circles over his hips.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And?”

Lucas tries unsuccessfully to suppress a smile, his fingers playing with the strings of Jens’s hoodie.

“I came out to them,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

He looks up when Jens remains silence, stifling a laugh when he sees Jens’s wide eyes and a smile just playing at his lips.

“Hm?”

Lucas covers his mouth with a hand, leaning in so his forehead presses to Jens’s and then pulls away when Jens’s hands press against his hips.

“You did what now?”

“I told them about you,” Lucas says, lifting his chin in mock pride, resting his hands on Jens’s shoulders. “And about how I’m super, super gay.”

“About me?” Jens says in sarcastic confusion, pointing to himself and raising his eyebrows. “You told them about me?”

“I told them all about you.”

“All about me?”

“Well,” Lucas says, looking away and cocking his head for a second as he placing his hands back in Jens’s hair. “Just what they need to know.”

“And that would be…”

Lucas sighs, kissing him briefly.

“Just that you make me happy. And you’re a dancer, which they think is fucking fantastic. Kes says when he visits he wants to see you dance.”

“Kes is visiting?”

“Eventually. No plans so far.”

“Mm.”

Lucas quirks his eyebrows at him.

“I’m proud of you,” Jens murmurs after a second, kissing his forehead softly.

Lucas beams, his cheeks pink, and he wraps his arms around Jens’s neck again, looking at his face.

It takes a few seconds, but it slowly falls, his smile dropping until he looks… sad.

“You don’t have to,” Lucas whispers, knowing.

Jens is quiet, sliding his hands up to Lucas’s waist, slipping under his hoodie and t-shirt, pressing against his skin. His hands are warm.

“It feels silly,” he says quietly. “Being scared to come out to them.”

“It’s not.”

“I know, I just…” Jens sighs, looking down. “I mean, Robbe’s gay, and Aaron and Moyo love him and Sander, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

“It’s okay,” Lucas says, placing a hand on Jens’s jaw, pressing his thumb under Jens’s chin so he looks at him. “You don’t have to until you’re ready.”

Jens sighs again, lightly, scanning Lucas’s face, so Lucas leans in and kisses him.

“It’s not silly to be scared,” Lucas says before Jens can say anything. “It’s normal. Especially in a world like this.”

“I don’t wanna be scared,” Jens says, quietly, almost under his breath.

Lucas just touches his face, brushing his fingertips over his cheekbones and brows like he’s drawing him.

“But I don’t wanna be brave either,” Jens adds. “It’s stupid. That I have to be brave just existing.”

“It is,” Lucas agrees, He cocks his head at him, looking at the softness in his dark eyes. “You don’t have to be brave right now.”

“Okay,” Jens whispers.

Lucas pulls him in, wrapping his arms around his tightly, and Jens reciprocates, his arms around Lucas’s waist, his fingers against Lucas’s bare skin. Jens buries his face in Lucas’s neck as Lucas’s fingers end up in Jens’s hair, combing out the tangles gently, scratching his scalp. They both sigh, rocking back and forth slightly, so slightly neither of them really notices.

“My dancer,” Lucas breathes as Jens kisses his neck gently, and Jens’s arms tighten around him.

[salthaven]

Make A Change: P8

Part Eight

    After her chat with, well, Chat, Marinette had gone to bed with a lot on her mind. She couldn’t help but think of Chat Noir’s words, of how distressed he’d seemed when she’d told him of her transfer.

    Marinette spent way too long staring at her phone, contemplating if she should call Adrien. Because it was obvious that he’d been the one to bug Chat Noir, he’d been the one to ask about her to the cat hero. It was touching, she supposed.

    She never called. Instead, she turned to Tikki. Tikki just smiled that soft, patient smile, and said that Marinette should get some sleep. So she did.

    Now, on a perfectly average Tuesday morning, Marinette is back at her new school. She heads to her first hour, not wanting to be late. Félix is there as well, and he nods to her before returning his attention to his book. Marinette sits beside him and begins to draw, passing the time before class quickly. It’s quiet, and peaceful, and the first time in forever that Marinette could wake up without someone talking her ear off. It’s a nice change in pace, beside her new friend.

    When class starts, it’s simple. Mr. Marcel assigns some worksheets and readings, and tells them to work in silence.

    “You’re not the only ones who are sleep deprived,” he mutters, laying his head on his desk. “If you…” he yawns. “If you’re quiet enough, you can work with the person next to you.” Then he falls asleep.

    Marinette blinks, then looks to Félix. “Is...is Mr. Marcel always like this?”

    Félix snorts, how he does it without noise is lost on Marinette. “He falls asleep about half of the time. But when he’s awake, he’s awake.”

    Marinette giggles, remembering how yesterday had gone. Mr. Marcel had been a bundle of energy, excitedly telling the room about their revolution. He’d gotten so caught up in his rant on the outfits (Marinette already liked him), that he’d cursed out the bell when it rang. “I look forward to the rest of the year, then.”

    Félix smiles. “Me, too. Here, let’s get to work.”

    “Right! Do you want to do the first half or the second half?”

    “The second half is mainly about uniforms, aren’t you a fashion designer?”

    “Yeah?”

    Félix nods. “I’ll do the first half.”

    Marinette can’t help but beam. “Thanks!” A few people shush her, and she blushes. 

    Félix spares a glance to the rest of the class, then returns his gaze to her. “You’ll learn quick, but we really don’t want to wake Mr. Marcel on these days. He’s vicious.”

    “How bad?”

    “As brutal as Syren and Stormy Weather.”

    Marinette raises an eyebrow at Félix’s deadpan expression. “Waking him is as bad as two Akumas that could cause natural disasters that almost killed all of Paris, if not the whole world?”

    Félix shrugs. “No, it’s just total fucking chaos.” He turns to his paper, beginning to read. After a few seconds, however, he looks back up to see Marinette gaping at him. “What?”

    “Sorry I...I didn’t think you were the type to swear.” Marinette blushes. “That was a dumb assumption, sorry.”

    He smiles. “I hear that a lot. I suppose I have a tendency to surprise people. A lot of people make assumptions after hearing a few things about me.” He shrugs again. “I let them think what they want, it’s more fun this way.”

    Marinette giggles. “Wow, master of deception right here.”

    “I try my best.” 

    They barely get the work done before class ends. When the bell rings, Mr. Marcel doesn’t wake up. Nobody seems surprised, so Marinette heads to Language Arts. 

    Allegra is already there when Marinette arrives, so Marinette slides into the seat beside her. 

    “Good morning, Allegra!” Marinette says happily. “How are you?”

    Allegra smiles sweetly. “I’m great, sunbeam, how about you?”

    Marinette blinks. “I’m doing well! But, uh, sunbeam?”

    Allegra nods. “You are such a sweet ray of sunshine, the name seemed fitting.”

    “I’ve never heard that one, so thank you?” Marinette thinks back to her old class, and says, “One of my classmates was called sunshine boy, though.”

    “Really? How could he surpass you for the title?” Allegra asks with brimming curiosity. “He must have been the definition of joy to get it!”

    “Well, he was always happy, but I think it’s because he was blond,” Marinette admits. “Adrien was always looking for peace, even when...even when it was better that he didn’t.” She winces, shoving away the thoughts.

    Allegra picks up on the wince, but for the wrong reason. “Adrien? Is he an ex of yours?”

    Marinette snorts. “Not an ex, I was ‘just a friend’ in his eyes.”

    Allegra winces, too. “Ooh, one sided love. It is always a tragedy.” 

    “Disappointing, maybe, but not a tragedy. I knew it was time to move on when I realized it would never work out, so...here I am.”

    “You changed schools to get away from a boy?!” Allegra shouts, and a few of their classmates turn to face Marinette, who blushes.

    “No! I transferred to...to get away from my whole class. It’s complicated!” Marinette says, before Allegra can question her reasoning. “I just wanted to get away from all of that. It wasn’t a good place for me.”

    “I see. That makes sense,” Allegra concedes.

    “Makes sense?”

    “Didn’t you come from the Akuma school?” Allegra waits for a response, but continues when Marinette just tilts her head in confusion. “Weren’t, I forget the exact number, forgive me, about twenty Akumas from your school alone?”

    Marinette flinches. “That...that sounds accurate.” Especially when she considers the two biggest reasons she left the school, and that they both had multiple Akuma forms. Yeah...she really did go to the Akuma school. 

    (Really, shouldn’t that be a sign that there might be something wrong with the school? Like a habit of victim blaming and unchecked bullies? No? Alright.)

    Allegra smiles kindly. “Well, at least you’re here now! You should be safer, right?”

    Fate isn’t kind to those who tempt her, and a sudden scream alerts them of the fickle mistress of life.

    “A pop quiz? On a Tuesday? Who does that?!” In storms an Akuma, who clutches all sorts of note cards and loose papers. “Not anymore, I say! I am PaperCut, and I will cut this senseless negativity out of my life forever!” Laughing maniacally, the boy sends some of the papers at the classmates like projectiles. The class scatters, racing for any available exit. Allegra darts through the back door of the room, some jump through the open windows. Marinette glances around, seeing how PaperCut approaches her desk...then looks up. She sees that a tile in the ceiling wasn’t put all the way in, and if she jumps-

    “Hey! Leave her alone!” Mr. Jean shouts, and it’s all the distraction Marinette needs. She climbs onto her desk and leaps up, grabbing onto the ceiling. Using all of the strength she’s gained during her time as Paris’s heroine, she pulls herself up, until she’s out of sight. Quickly, the bluenette scrambles away, looking for a way out of the ceiling. A few minutes later, she finds a light and pushes out the tile, letting herself fall down.

    She lands in the bathroom. The currently filled boys’ bathroom. All of them shriek when they see her, and she races out yelling apologies. She shoves her way into the girls’ bathroom, which is, luckily, completely empty.

    “That was a close save!” Tikki says. 

    “I’m just glad I could make that jump,” Marinette admits. “I wasn’t sure if I would be able to pull myself up. But that’s not important right now! Tikki, spots on!”

    A flash of pink covers her, and Ladybug darts back out, already calling for Chat Noir. 

    No response.

    “Come on,” Ladybug mutters as she hears a crashing. It seems she’s found the Akuma.

    PaperCut storms into the hall as a teacher runs away, yelling profanities. “Yeah, try to outrun me you foul bast-”

    “Now, we all know foul language isn’t allowed in a place like this,” Ladybug chides, cutting him off. 

    PaperCut glares at her. “You’re trying to stop me, aren’t you? Well I’m not going back! I’m not taking a stupid physics test!” He raises his arm and throws more notes at her.

    “I’m sure it will be fine,” Ladybug tries to soothe him, but it’s a bit tricky when she’s more focused on dodging paper projectiles. “You’ll do better than you think!”

    “I don’t even know how to measure circles!” PaperCut shouts in frustration, and Ladybug pauses.

    “Isn’t that geometry?” She asks, and PaperCut throws his hands in the air.

    “How am I supposed to know?” He lunges at her, and she leaps out of the way. She looks for her partner, where is he?

    “I think everything will go purr-fectly!” Chat says as he rounds the corner, and Ladybug sighs in relief. “And besides, there’s always next time!”

    “Next time doesn’t matter! What matters is right now! And right now, I’m going to take you two down.” He raises a hand to throw more papers-

    And falls over.

    Ladybug looks up, surprised to find...Félix? He stands there, a textbook in his hands.

    “Knowledge is power, Ladybug,” Félix says, then picks up a glowing purple flashcard. “I think this is the Akumatized object.”

    “Cataclysm?” Chat reaches out and taps the object, and Ladybug catches the Akuma before it can flutter away. In seconds, any damage is undone, and the victim scurries off, muttering about gravity.

    “Thank you…” Ladybug forces herself to hesitate.

    “Félix.” He looks around. “Have you seen Marinette?” 

    “Marinette?” Chat perks up, eyes widening. “She goes here now?”

    Félix nods slowly, and Ladybug can see the confusion in his eyes. “Yes. It’s her second day. My friend, Allegra, texted me. PaperCut stormed into their class, and Allegra couldn’t get ahold of her. Have either of you seen her?” 

    Ladybug smiles, trying to be calm. “Yeah! She was hiding in the ceiling, last I checked!”

    “The ceiling?!” 

    Ladybug shrugs. “She’s a smart girl.”

    Chat sighs wistfully. “Yeah she is. That’s my Princess.” 

    Ladybug isn’t sure how to feel, and Félix seems just as confused. Chat’s ring finally beeps, giving him a cue to leave. 

    “I’ll see you later, bugaboo!” Chat says cheerfully, then darts to a classroom and leaps out of the window. 

    Ladybug smiles at Félix. “I have to go, but if I see Marinette I’ll tell her it’s safe to head back.”

    “Thank you.” 

    Ladybug nods, then darts away. Once out of view, she leaps into the ceiling before detransforming, then crawls back to her classroom. She lets herself fall down, scaring Allegra.

    At lunch, she’s greeted by two unamused faces.

    “Really, the ceiling?” Félix asks, and all Marinette can do is shrug.

    It’s, in other words, a rather normal day for Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

~~~

After a long wait, I finally was able to make another part!!!

Tags: @domena151 @fatimaabbasrizvi @blackcanary13 @7-sage-7 @chez-pezeater @captainmac6 @riarkle-felinettelove @crazylittlemunchkin @vixen-uchiha @goggle-mcgee @legendaryneckjudgestudent @demigodgirl20031 @interobanginyourmom @crayrandomrebel @tinybrie @positive-growth @northernbluetongue @sweetkyoka @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @schrodinger25 @celestialtitania @athenalovesredsblog @magnitude101999 @kristycocopop @melicmusicmagic @poshplumcot @ur-average-reader @dani-ari @ginamarie1512 @kuroko26 @ayuchan07 @hnbutt @minightrose @mochinek0

[skythealmighty]

A girl in a spider costume zooms through the sky on webs strung from her hand, whooping. A narration cuts in of a sassy teenage girl. 

“All right, let’s get this part over with. I’m not the first, and I’m certainly not the last. Cut to backstory!” she said, then snapped. The scene changed.

The girl, outside her costume, is eating a bagel. She has blond-brown hair in a messy bob, blue-green eyes, and pale skin. She’s wearing simple clothes. “My name is Skye King. In my universe, I’m one of two spider-people, though I’m the only Spider-Girl. Spider-Man is in New York. My business is in Seattle. One day, during summer break, I was bitten by a radioactive spider after my 15th birthday. You get the jist, right? Then I had spider powers, yadda yadda yadda. We’ve all heard it before. Well, the thing is, not really. That spider was from another universe (at least I'm 99% sure).” While she said all that, in the cutscene, a spider bit her on the hand and she threw it outside. “I could tell something was wrong, so I decided to cancel my hangout with my friend the next day, telling her I was sick. I couldn’t have been more wrong, but it was a good call. I absolutely trashed my room that day.” It showed Skye in her room, sticking to the bedcovers and the ceiling and her books. “Needless to say, my parents were kinda, okay super mad. Oh well, small price for a little superpower! I discovered during the next few days that I could create portals with my webs, and the first one led to the universe with the graffiti Spider-Man, Miles Morales.” Another scene showed her fistbumping with Miles, masks down on their spider costumes as they sat on top of a building. “There, I officially got my suit from Aunt May with some help. I wanted a little piece of everyone I met, so I asked Miles to decorate my costume a bit. He got the left arm, and I gotta say, it looked pretty sweet! Over the next week, I visited other universes and added to my suit a little at a time. You name them from Miles’s movie, I’ve probably visited them. Peni Parker (got a robotics upgrade from her), Noir (the guns were cool, but he also got a bit of space on my mask), Gwen (I stole her hoodie idea and went to gymnastics), Peter B. (not much, his suit’s the same as the original), and even Peter Porker (got a cartoon hammer, I love Looney Tunes)! They were all really cool, but my story isn’t about meeting them. Way too cliche, and probably done before, too. This little mini story takes place in the universe where that spider came from. So why don’t we finally get started, now that you know who I am?” The scene returned to Spider-Girl swinging from the Seattle Space Needle. She winked at the camera, and the screen turned black.

Skye yawned, sitting up in bed as her alarm went off. “Hey Google, alarm off,” she said tiredly, getting out of bed and getting dressed off-camera. She ate her breakfast, said hi to her family, packed up her backpack (not forgetting her Spider Suit), and jogged out the door to her bus stop. She napped on the bus until it arrived at school, where she was woken up by her Spidey senses. She got off the bus. “Hello again, Edison High,” she sighed, walking into the cafeteria and sitting down at a table full of older students. The narration starts. “This is my average, everyday high school, Edison High. These are my art club friends, Olivia, Jack, Darth, and.. well, they’re important to me, but maybe not to you. My other friends are Sofia, Haylie, Mitchell, AJ, and Micheal. At my high school, nobody apart from Sofia, AJ, and Haylie know I’m Spider-Girl, even though she’s the main topic of gossip. School’s boring, so I’ma skip it.” 

The scene of a high school day is fast forwarded until the very end, where she goes to the bathroom. “I’ve long since made a secret exit, and most girls don’t check the bathroom mirror, so I get dressed in my onesie there. It’s really not that hard, and I have a drone get my backpack home. That does mean I have to do my homework in class, but I’m pretty smart, so I can do it most of the time.” Skye, in her Spider-Girl suit, exits the stall and opens the mirror like a door, walking inside. She drops her backpack into a carrier drone, then opens a secret door from the inside and webs to the top of the school. “All in all, a pretty normal day. No crime at the moment, so I decided to visit another universe again. I mean, why not?” She spun her web in a circle, creating a portal, which she swung into. “I wanted a little something to add to my outfit. But that day? Fate didn’t like me one bit.” She looked around at the other portals, which had markings on them, the logos of the different Spider-Men she’d met. One of the portals was unmarked, and that was the one she swung into. As soon as she did, she attempted to make another web, but failed. “Aw, what? Talk about bad timing..” the Skye in the scene said, before yelling and slamming into the ground. “I think I’ll stop the narration now, so you can focus on the story.”

The screen was black, but then Skye opened her eyes. In front of her was a rainbow Spider-Man, upside down in front of her. She yelped and scrambled backwards in surprise, bonking her head. “Ow..” she muttered, rubbing her head. She flicked her wrist, trying to spin her web. Nothing happened. “Damnit!” she cursed.

“You okay?” the rainbow Spider-Man asked, letting go of his web (which was unsurprisingly rainbow as well) and landing on the ground. “You hit your head pretty hard.”

Skye grinned under the mask. “I’ve had worse. I mean, when you’re Spider-Girl, you gotta be able to take a few hits, right?” She got up, standing in front of the walking rainbow and looking him up and down. “I like the sugar glider wings,” she complimented. “I bet those come in handy a lot, huh?”

He smiled too (though only shown with the eyes of his mask). “Yeah, they do. So, how’d you get here anyway? Super collider?”

She shook her head. “Nah, got here on my own. Part of my powers include going to other universes, weirdly enough. My webs aren’t working, though,” she flicked her hand for emphasis, “so I’m stuck here for the moment. I don’t think that’ll last for more than a couple days, so no need to worry.”

He sighed in relief. “Good, I’m already taking care of four Spider-Children, so I don’t need more.. why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, after seeing her starstruck expression. 

“There’s more!?” she said, sort of high-pitched. She covered her mouth. “Oops. Um, basically, when I run into another Spider-Person, I want a way of remembering, so I add to my outfit.. I was looking to upgrade mine for a while, so this is perfect!”

He laughed. “Alright, I’ll take you to them. Be warned though, they’re all pretty extra in their own way.” The scene cut to him swinging her up to an apartment, setting her down.

“Thanks for that,” she said, embarrassed. “If I had my webs, I wouldn’t need you to do that, though..”

“Nah, it’s fine!” He took off his mask, grinning. “I don’t mind. I’m Thomas.” He held out his hand.

“Skye,” she said, taking it after pulling her own mask off. “Now if you don’t mind, you got some thread and needles?” He pointed her to a room. “Sweet!” she said, running in. “I’ll be back!”

After a few minutes, she came out with the same sugar glider extensions he had, but they were the bi flag instead of the gay flag. “Ta-daa!”

“Nice,” he nodded in approval. “There’s some spare clothes in the closet if you don’t mind sweats and t-shirts.”

She grinned. “That’s what I usually wear anyway!”

The screen showed a Spongebob ‘one hour later’ cutscene, then showed Thomas and Skye watching a movie. She was wearing a blue t-shirt and purple sweats. There was a knock on the door. “Come in, guys,” Thomas said, not taking his eyes off the movie. Skye, however, looked towards the door to see four different Spider-Men come through. One wore a royal outfit with flowers, hair uncovered, one wore a pink outfit with hearts and a baseball cap, one wore an outfit similar to Gwen’s with a V, and the last one wore a blue outfit that had a tie design on it and four robotic spider legs on his back. Her eyes widened.

“Okay, now I definitely need to update my outfit again!” She grinned, dashing into the room she’d been in before where her suit was. The others looked at her.

“Uh… who was that?” the one in the royal outfit asked, looking perplexed.

“You’ll see,” Thomas answered.

After a half hour, while everyone was on the couch with masks down, she came out with the suit on and mask up. The hoodie was up, and on top of it, there was a gray V like the Gwen lookalike’s mask. One of the legs had pink hearts and red flowers, and the other had the same design as the tie design but only up to below the knee. She was grinning, until she realized something. “Oh, right, I never introduced myself. I’m Skye, Spider-Girl!” she said, pulling her mask down and bowing. 

“Virgil,” said the Gwen lookalike.

“Roman!” introduced the royal one.

“Hi, I’m Patton!” grinned the pink one.

“Salutations, my name is Logan,” said the one in the tie.

“Nice to meet all of you!” said Skye, grinning and sitting down with the rest. 

A timelapse showed the day going by, nothing super interesting. The timelapse stopped at the next day during lunch, because that’s where the action is. Besides, this is supposed to be a short story, so I won’t bore you too much.

Everyone was having pizza. “Mm, they do not make pizza like this in Seattle, let me tell you,” Skye said after finishing her first slice. “I almost wish they did, but then I’d never cook for myself!”

Suddenly, everyone froze, Spidey senses going off. “Oh no, why in the middle of lunch?” Roman groaned, setting down his slice and going into one of the stalls in the corner. Everyone but Skye followed him, her going into the suit touch up room. One by one, they all emerged in their Spider suits. Thomas and his gang swung out, while Skye took a deep breath and glided after them using the addition she’d just added yesterday, since she still couldn’t use her webs. They arrived in Times Square to see the Scorpion causing trouble with the Tinkerer, again. 

“Peter always has to deal with these guys, why don’t they ever quit?” Skye asked, perched next to the others on top of a building. 

“Evil never rests?” Logan offered.

“Nah, these guys are just really annoying,” Thomas sighed. 

They all jumped down, standing in front of either the Tinkerer or the Scorpion. Virgil, Logan, and Skye were in front of the Tinkerer, while Thomas, Patton, and Roman were in front of the Scorpion. “Time to kick some ass!” Skye said, crawling up a building and launching herself at the Tinkerer. Soon after, Virgil and Logan swung at him in turn, Logan knocking the Tinkerer out of his own vehicle and taking control, which he then used to stun the Tinkerer while Virgil tied him up. Thomas swung and glided onto the Scorpion’s face, blinding him. Patton and Roman tied the Scorpion up, then Thomas kicked the Scorpion over and over in the face, temporarily stunning him. As if it was second nature for her, Skye swung using her webs and tied the Scorpion up some more, knowing her webs were stronger than the others’ by nature. As she landed on the ground, she looked at her hands and smiled. “Looks like I can go home now,” she grinned to the others. “Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

“Nah, you’re fun to hang around with. Come back anytime,” Thomas said, waving goodbye. She nodded and made a portal, swinging through as it closed behind her. She hung in place in the middle of all the universes, making five webs above the top of the portal she just came in from. The middle one was a rainbow spider, and the other four were a gray V, a red rose, a pink heart, and a blue tie. She grinned and swung through the portal labeled ‘home’, swinging above the city. She was lucky it was Saturday, so she didn’t miss any school. But how would she explain it to her parents? She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she spotted a robbery. Good never sleeps, she thought, webbing one of the criminals with a sigh. The scene faded to black.

“Hey, don't get mad, I told you it’d be short. Cut!”

@ask-spiderverse-virgil

[harrieatthemet]

Other Mama

in which you come home early as a surprise but Harry seems to have an even bigger one waiting for you..

The hotel beds are always stiff.

The air conditioning is always too high, or not high enough. The middle of the night rolls around and you’re woken up to hair matted by sweat on the back of your neck, or teeth mildly chattering from excessive cold air.

Ironic as it may be, it’s almost impossible to fall asleep without the hands of a toddler resting on your arm, or a knee pressed into your gut. It’s even harder without a body pressed into the back of your arms, lips on the back of your neck, even a faint snore or two echoing in your ear.

It’s not home. Your bed consists of three people, aside from trips that confine you to a night’s sleep in a bed with only you to occupy it. And each time you can’t seem to help orchestrating a few pillows amongst the empty space of the mattress, just to make it a little less empty. Just to make it feel a little more like home.

“Checking out, Mrs. Styles?”

It’s like music to your ears, every single time. The sweet smile of the concierge is nothing compared to the smile that paints itself on the face of your daughter each time you return from a trip; a smile that is always followed by a kiss to the cheek and sealed with a hug.

It’s like music to your ears because yes, you are checking out, you’re going home. It only seems to feel better this time because it’s an entire three days earlier than you had planned.

A surprise. It wasn’t an intentional one, which is partially the reason you had failed to mention it to Harry over the phone yesterday afternoon. Another 3 days of meetings and other business endeavors had been etched into the schedule on your phone, only to be promptly cancelled just mere hours after you had bid your goodbye to your husband.

You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of guilt each time you packed a bag, folded clothes before stuffing them into a suitcase equipped with your laptop and other work necessities. Each time you left, Harry had just gotten back, and as understanding as he portrayed himself to be it didn’t ease the burden of having to take off for a week.

But surely, this would amount to something. This would make up for it, even if it was only a little bit. Your foot hasn’t even hit the front steps yet and you’ve already gone and painted a picture in your mind; the bliss of being back at home, the shrieks of excitement from your girl, an anticipated kiss from Harry.

Nobody hears the door open. You had expected something, anything; music maybe, the lull of the TV from the room just off the foyer, giggling, chatter, even the clanking of the dishes because it’s nearly 7 in the evening and Harry’s almost always got dinner going by now.

The playroom holds everything you had expected. A few toys are strewn across the floor, a stray building block in particular barricading your heel before you brush it aside. The couch is covered in scrapped art projects and different blankets that Anne had sewn up for her granddaughter; all exactly how you left it just a few days ago. And to the left is the mop of brown hair you’d been in search for, sitting in a sloppy ponytail to keep her hair from her eyes while she colored her picture.

“Mind if I take a look?” your head hovers just above her shoulder, peeking at her picture as you eagerly await the expression on her face.

Her grin takes up majority of the space on the lower half of her face, teeth showing briefly as she squeaks your name in excitement. It’s exactly what you had anticipated; pudgy hands fly to your cheeks as she welcomes you back home with kisses all over your face before she lets you give her a quick peck to her nose.

And she does let you see her picture, holding up her sloppy drawing of lines and squiggles as high as her arms would let her as she practically bathes herself in your slew of praises and compliments

“Where’s daddy?” your question comes out in a hum before you plop another kiss to the top of your head.

“Making dinner,” she shrugs, crayon clutched tightly in her hand, “with other mama.”

“Other mama?” and your brow involuntarily cocks, “You mean nana?”

“Nana is old, other mama is young.”

There’s a brief, dull ache in your chest at the response of your toddler. Her nonchalance and laid back answer to your question is oddly uneasy, leaving you with furrowed eyebrows and bewildered expression on your face. She goes back to coloring, her attention devoted to the paper laid out before her, letting you place your bag down on the couch before exiting the room and looping around the hallway.

“Kitten,” he asks mid-hum, “mind grabbing a couple plates?”

She’s quick to obey, lying them out on the kitchen island alongside the glasses he had put out. And she’s even quicker to wrap her arms around his torso, pressing the front of her to mesh with his back as he tends to the pot boiling on the stove.

If the looks of it didn’t make your stomach churn enough, him humming in response was almost enough to coax you into throwing up. There’s an unfamiliar burn devouring your skin when her lips coat the bare skin of his neck with fragile kisses, her lips turned upwards into a smirk. You can see the look on his face; the content in his body language tells you plenty, maybe more than you had wanted to know at all. It’s comfortable, which is enough to tell you that this isn’t new, this is comfortable. This has been long term.

“Jesus Christ, Harry.” it comes out breathlessly because, for a minute, you had almost forgotten how to take normal, sufficient breaths.

It’s like every hair on the back of his neck sticks up all at once, limbs nearly going stiff after he feverishly writhes free of the woman’s grip. It’s like he’s seen a ghost; his face goes white almost, mouth agape in the form of a small o as he sighs anxiously.

She stands off to the side, quickly realizing that since you’re home, she’s become extremely out of place. She doesn’t belong here. But you’re sure she’s known that prior to now, because she’s not in the wedding photos hung on the hallway walls just outside the kitchen. It’s not her in the honeymoon photos decorating Harry’s bedroom nightstand.

“Early,” he blurts, “y’home, didn’t think you’d be back this early. ”

“I didn’t think you’d have a whore in my house,” you breath, “looks like we’re both wrong.”

There’s about a hundred different things you could do right now.

You could cry; you might cry, because there’s a stinging sensation behind your eyes and a lump metastasizing in your throat the longer you feel the gaze of the other woman on your face.

You very well might just throw up. An uneasy feeling that started in your stomach has now consumed half of your body, the room is spinning and your gut is twisting and turning a million different ways.

And there’s a chance you could throw a fit, cause a scene so theatrical that even the neighbors down the block may sprout some concern. You could yell, you know you feel the urge starting to make itself prominent. But you won’t because words are tangled with one another in the back of your throat and you can barely do so much as take steady breaths. Because this is too much. This is overwhelming. This is fucked.

He mutters under his breath to her, asking her to grab her things and head home. You would’ve let her stay, would’ve let her sit in the argument. There was plenty to say to her, as well. But she takes advantage of the opportunity, as she’s clearly uncomfortable while she nods in agreement before fast walking out, head down as she tries to avoid eye contact as she approaches you to exit the room.

“Don’t say a fucking word to my daughter.”

Your tone is berating, vicious, and she’s receptive of it. Because the door closes only seconds after she books it out of the kitchen.

And now it’s just the two of you. An uncomfortable silence wafts around the room before it settles completely, sending a chill of panic down Harry’s back as he studies your face for a reaction.

Are you mad? Are you gonna cry? Gonna yell? The look on your face is doing nothing for him, because your blankly staring at the wall behind him with a stoic expression. There’s no tears, no raising of your voice. For a second, he doesn’t even know if you’re breathing or not. Nothing. Your face is telling him nothing.

“Say something,” he bursts, “please just, dunno, yell a’me.”

Still nothing. For fucks sake, you don’t even blink. Nothing. But you do swallow, hard, closing your eyes to assure no tears present themselves. You’re not sure what to say, how to address this. A slew of emotions are swelling you and you’re not sure which to draw on first, especially when he’s this desperate to get something out of you.

“She called her other mama,” your voice is so low he nearly misses it, but when he does catch it, he can feel his body go numb, “other mama.”

“S’a fucking mess,” he chokes, “know tha’. Don’t know how I let it get this bad but I’ll talk about it, tell y’everything, just let me talk to yeh ‘bout it.”

“Talk to you?” and when you scoff he knows, very well, there won’t be a conversation, “Harry I can’t even look at you, and you wanna talk about it?”

The very second the words fall from your tongue he can almost feel his face hit the floor. No conversation relating to this will be had, he’s realized that quicker than he would have preferred to. And it’s true, you can’t look at him, which only seems to make him feel that much smaller. He’s surpassed minuscule, seeing how disgusted you are even be in the same vicinity as him, to even be sharing the same space as him. Your eyes stay glued to the wall behind him for a few minutes, silence as loud as ever as neither of you say anything to each other.

“I’m gonna go,” you exhale, “can’t stay here so.. I’m gonna go.”

“Can yeh just,” he respires, “please (Y/N), let me talk first.”

“We’re gonna go,” you repeat, and now the pain in his chest is throbbing, “me and the baby, we’re gonna go.”

He knows the pleas are nothing but white noise to you. He can tell you’re drowning them out, him steady on your heels as you head down the hall to grab your daughter and a few of her things. He’s doing his best to keep his composure, keep his voice leveled so she won’t be clued in on what’s going on. His pleading and begging is bordering on desperate, but it’s just white noise to you.

And after all the nights spent griping over hotel beds, you never thought you’d long to sleep in one as badly as you do right now.

[eyeslikefoxglove]

Episode 14 - WangXian are a (v soft) Battle Couple & Foxglove is hella mad

Hi! Welcome to episode 14. I should be studying. It’s day two of morning runs, so my soul has left my body already, send help. Yesterday I went to buy plants with my mum and got so excited I just whacked on a bunch of eyeshadow because I haven’t seen the outside in weeks, I’m also wearing makeup today, because I have nowhere to go, but I really need to finish this bb cream before it goes bad, so my parents are getting my full fresh faced “woke up like this and put on mascara” routine (which is a fucking lie because I’m wearing at least three blushes and two highlighters). I’m determined to get this bitch down in under five minutes so I can have another five to do eyeshadow, I have way too much eyeshadow to not wear it (I have way too much everything except maybe mascara and eyebrow stuff).

Yes, if y’all were wondering I am in fact a makeup magpie. ANYWAY BACK TO THE ACTUAL THING WE ALL CAME HERE FOR.

(Btw further down I discuss once again how shitty I think the Yunmeng sibs’ parents are if that causes an issue for you)

Ok ok ok, so I was talking with damnpoe-2187 here about how we found that sometimes WWX crossed from gremlin into asshole when he tried to get LWJ riled up. Like in the Cold Springs, putting our shippers hearts aside, that was a dick move and he should have stopped undressing the second LWJ went from annoyed to incredibly uncomfortable. I find this scene the complete opposite, a show of character development if you will. It is kind of similar in that they’re both hurt, and alone (although this time is much more serious) and there was some undressing going on; however WWX here behaves like a fool in love considerate person and knowing how uncomfortable LWJ already is tries to make it easier for him. They’re also super soft and I’m weak.

A brief interlude from my one track mind: That pond is full of corpses isn’t it? Or at least the remnants of the Murder Turtle’s meals I suppose. Damn right WWX should not have gone into the water with an open wound, but think no one should go swimming in there without a full hazmat suit tbh (I want to pump them full of antibiotics at this point ngl)

So I love this tiny montage (is it even a montage) of the, getting themselves ready to kill the Murder Turtle.

Teamwooooooork.

Listen, I have read a few fics in which their mind-meld stays in place due to reasons and I need me more of those.

Ok, turtles don’t work that way, but then again, giant murder snake-Trex-turtle so that’s low on my list of priorities. What’s not low is the fact that this guy is knee deep into pretty much a mass grave and I want to take a few showers just watching him.

Yeah, I know exactly what he’s smelling and suddenly I hope I don’t have meat for lunch today tbh.

The screaming sword has always been fucking creepy and does LWJ’s fist clench mean that he’s also hearing them?

BATTLE COUPLE! BATTLE COUPLE! BATTLE COUPLE!

So I know killing the thing took them something like six hours. And while it feels quite a long time in the show, I think that, if they cut the scene with idk, JC running towards Lotus Pier, then back to them, then back to JC, but now the sun is in a different position, back to them, but now the blood from LWJ’s hand has dripped down his arm; and so on a so forth it’d convey more clearly how long it took for the Murder Turtle to die. I know fuck all about cinematography tho so feel free to ignore all this if it is in fact an abomination.

Tiiiiiiny interlude here to say that Yiling Patriarch!WWX is probably one of my favourite character archetypes. He’s slightly creepy, slightly amoral (smiling while torturing and murdering bad guys is still amoral ok), more than a bit on the Dark Side, cocky, smirky, a bit of an asshole a BAMF, a rebel with cause and yet he will still do the right thing, not despite his nature, but because of it. He’s kind of like a Chipped Spike? But you know, he doesn’t need electroshock to behave.

I just want a fic where he’s this Dark Lord of Evil in everyone’s eyes however the ‘good guys’ take a break from trying to off him because a bigger threat just popped up and they have no choice but to ask for his help. He agrees, keeps being his charming self while also saving everyone’s asses, LWJ is smitten.

TL;DR: The Necromancer is hot. Oh and nobody dare deny LWJ has a Yiling Patriarch kink.

Oh my, this is the part when I always get teary eyed.

WUJI ON A CELLO? DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME?

“Why hasn’t Jiang Cheng shown up and rescued me yet?” THIS IS ALL THE PROOF I NEED THAT WWX IS THE BABY SIBLING.

“Lan Zhan sing me a song”

IT IS HAPPENING, STAY FUCKING CALM EVERYBODY (I’m crying)

That slideshow of their best moments set to WuJi is a masterpiece, and also, it kind of drives home the point of “how tf did we go from flirting during summer camp to this mess”?

(Btw if that’s YiBo humming he’s got one hell of a deep voice)

Ok ok ok, so this moment had me spitting up my tea the first time I watched it. Believe it or not my dumbass thought these people were actually serious with the censorship and we’d get scraps of their actual relationship. Lots of charged moments like in some other western tv shows I’ve seen when two dudes have chemistry but “they’re not gay”, no longing glances, no tender touches, no being unbelievably soft with each other; just you know, amped up, because if I’m not mistaken you can be arrested in China for “promoting the gay”. I mean, they changed the beginning when people insult MXY’s sexuality to insulting his mental health; no one would think “ah yes, the gays are good” when they hear it used as a slur, but they still erased it completely. One of the things I thought they’d fully take away was WangXian, I mean, the into/outro is named Wuji, which, you know, still a mishmash of their names, but not their ship name. It is such a significant part of the story with all the “what’s the song name? Figure it out yourself” that if something were going to give away that they’re married with a kid it would be that. I thought we’d get an artful fade to black BEFORE LWJ would say the name not after. And also, YiBo is enunciating it so clearly that, even with the sound muffled and the blurriness I, who don’t speak Chinese, can make out the two syllables. That’s deliberate, I can say “WangXian” loud and clear without moving my lips too much. At this point in time I must assume someone in charge of looking for censorship violations in the show is a fan and just ignored it.

Censorship person 1: dude, isn’t that a bit too gay, maybe you shouldn’t greenlight it.

Censorship person 2: shut the fuck up, sit here and watch.

*a full rundown of the whole of CQL later*

Censorship person 1: oh my god they’re so in love and they deserve to be happy.

Back to the commentary: I’m sorry but I have a mighty need of a WWX & Peacock friendship ok? This might be me just wanting WWX and LWJ to make other friends besides each other but I think that the Peacock is just bitchy enough to not take any of WWX’s bullshit.

And the Yunmeng bros timing for banter strikes yet again.

That’s terrible quality fake blood btw.

@ Yunmeng disciples: STOP SHOOTING FUCKING KITES PLEASE AND THANK YOU

Oooof even with a change of clothes our boy is still looking rough as hell.

MY LOVELY YUNMENG SIBS BEING SOFT AND HAPPY WITH EACH OTHER.

It hurts my soul that the second JFM starts praising WWX for surviving the Murder Turtle our boy’s knee-jerk reaction is to start praising JC in return. It is instinctive, how many times must this have happened for him to know his brother won’t even get scraps of praise? (Seriously fuck their parents)

It was going so well, I mean, JFM had a point warning him to not say things in anger. But I thought he was going to tell him that it is because sometimes he’ll hurt someone without wanting to, yet, this asshole decided to, once again, remind his kid he thinks he’s a failure.

And here comes Mme Yu who I can only assume had a servant posted at the door to warn her when WWX woke so she could throw some verbal abuse at him. I mean, she must have been missing it.

And JFM’s misogynistic bullshit strikes once again, because why defend ALL your kids when you can insult your wife.

(Every time someone berates WWX for “intervening” I want to scream. I mean, seeing this I can believe why the society as a whole thought genocide was a good idea.)

I love how they use their kids as props in their fight, I mean it’s not like they have feelings or anything. This woman is gaslight-y as hell too “you don’t love your kid because I gave birth to him”, you can’t tell me saying that in front of the son she’s supposed to love isn’t going to hurt him. And she knows it, I mean, besides the Wen attack I’ve never seen her hit the kids (although I very much doubt she hasn’t), so a good part of the abuse must be verbal. There’s no fucking way a person who regularly uses words that way won’t realise where she’s aiming those arrows. Which means to her (to both) the kids are collateral.

But FR, the barely-out-of-adolescence disaster bi necromancer PTSDing all over the place and living in a mass grave was a better parent than any of the current adults in this thing.

Which brings me to another point, Shijie is textbook “the oldest sibling is just another parent” and I’m making myself very angry.

[this is when I start frothing at the mouth and itching to write a modern-girl(and friends)-dropped-in-CQL because someone has to be a positive adult influence in these kids’ lives and it sure as shit ain’t the ones in the actual show.]

CAN WE STOP BRINGING PEOPLE’S DEAD PARENTS INTO THE FIGHT?

*deep breath*

I am going to feed JFM & Mme Yu each other’s spleens. Look, listen, look and listen, let’s first talk about how calmly they lay out the facts of their lives, one is only loved because he’s been brought up in the shadow of his dead parents, the other knows with certainty his father dislikes him and his mother uses him as leverage in marital disputes. When have these two not exploded their emotions all over the place? Fucking never. Yet here they are, talking about this bullshit like some bout of inconvenient weather. They’re used to it!

And now let’s talk about yet again siblings-are-just-extra-parents, with an added pile of WWX’s terrible self awareness that, to the man who brought him up, his worth is due to his dead parents. Again I’m extrapolating, but with the amount of times Mme Yu brings up his parents in such a negative light I refuse to believe JFM hasn’t made all the “you’re so much like your parents” comments to him every time WWX does something right. I mean, telling an orphan about their parents if they ask is a good thing, but WWX seems starved for stories about his them, which leads me to believe JFM refuses to talk about the topic except to make those little comments. What a fucking stellar way to give someone all the trauma if you ask me. May also explain a lot of WWX’s self worth issues if the biggest praise he’s ever heard is that he resembles dead people, yes, people who were loved, but they’re dead, and it doesn’t look like any adult has bothered to go and differentiate WWX from ZSSR&WCZ.

I’m just really mad, despite all the silly anecdotes I put in here my parents are fucking great at parenting, so I know what good parents should look like, and this ain’t it.

Ok, so I made myself angry and I don’t know if I should move onto the next episode now or wait till tomorrow but thanks for reading!

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Chapter Three : Section Five : Two Truths and a Lie

Chapter One l Chapter Two l Chapter Three

After a few harrowing days, we tie up loose ends and answer questions, while Anti goes searching for answers in a less orthodox way.

Trigger warnings for sudden distress, physical abuse and restraint, mentions of cutting and blood (not self-inflicted), and emotional manipulation.

Section Five of Chapter Three: Two Truths and a Lie

Okay I usually try to save questions I don’t get to for the next time I get to the boys but we’re just going to have some miscellaneous question time lol so I can clean out my inbox! you can ask anybody anything right now. I’ll probably just clear everything out and then later or tomorrow I’ll set a scene

I do think I want to come back towards more casual answering like we used to at the start, so if I start answering questions at more random times instead of like in two-hour chunks bear with me :)

Except Trick he’s not taking questions D:

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey Dap! You feeling any better?

Dap is still cozied up in his blankets, holding you between his pale palms as he rouses himself. He sets you down on his lap.

“Feel very tired,” he confesses. “But not so much in the no-energy way. More like the no-interest way.”

“No interest in what?” asks Red softly, coming over off-screen to set a cup of water on his bedside table. Dapper doesn’t answer, rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

“Glad your color’s up,” says Red, though you can hear the frown in his voice. “You come back much quicker than Blue, honestly. Maybe you didn’t use as much power as I thought?”

Dapper shrugs and his stomach growls, but he doesn’t complain.

Anonymous asked: Hey boys

“Hi,” waves Dapper, smiling for you. “How are you, camera?”

Red chuckles and shuffles around the room.

“It talks to me,” signs Dapper dreamily. “Lots of voices. Cameras, brothers, bears, empty rooms. It talks to me.“

aether-mae asked: Magicians! can you either tell us your location, or tell us a location near you? Are you still in Peru?

“We are in Peru,” says Emmanuela. “It may not be safe to be more specific than that.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What are you two up to?

“I’ve got to go get him some breakfast here in a minute,” murmurs Red, coming to set you on the desk in the corner of the square little room, so you can see them better. There’s water damage making the ceiling sag and Dapper scratches on a little red bite on his neck, hugging his filthy white bear to his chest.

“I shouldn’t have spent so much on getting a room for a couple days,” sighs Red. “But he needed to lie down. And I have to admit it’s nice not sleeping on the street for a night.”

spicydanhowell asked: dap, red, when you're up, have you noticed maybe some churches or other places in local communities that have food donations? or actually, all kinds of fruit grow in peru. if you can find some kind of garden or orchard, you could snag some fruit when nobody's around. either of these would be a lot better than shoplifting or robbing houses :(

“You’re probably right,” mumbles Red morosely, dragging his hands through his hair. “I don’t trust those food donation places though. Fucking cops could be hanging out. Scumbags. Worse than American cops, here. Maybe.”

“That only happened once,” says Dapper. “Now you’re paranoid.”

“What?”

“It only happened once,” repeats Dapper, frowning. “That the cop followed you home after you went to get food from the nuns. And then Anti handled it. You’re paranoid.”

Red pauses, his mouth opening and shutting once.

“Dap… bud, you know I don’t remember farther back than Norway, right?”

Dapper doesn’t say anything, picking at the dirt on his bear’s ears.

“There’s no gardens around here that I know of, we’re right in the middle of this ugly city and everything’s apartment buildings and run-down businesses. I’m going to try and find a restaurant that throws stuff out or something before I steal anything, I guess. But I’m scared to be out in public and I just… I just wish we had…”

He kneads his thumb into his palm and goes quiet, his head down from the weight of it all.

cest-mellow asked: hey dok! how are you feeling with the magicians now? any safer than before?

He slept in his own bed tonight, curled up beneath the covers, but when he comes back to you, he looks upset, maybe even tearful.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, holding you very tight again, rubbing at his wrists. “But I woke up afraid today and I - I - ”

He pauses, staring around him, his mouth shuddering.

“I don’t know, I felt safe yesterday, but I’m worried they did something to my head.”

He pushes his palm against the side of his skull and closes his eyes, biting down hard on his lip.

“Don’t know what kind of powers they have,” he whimpers. “What sort of things they could make me think. I never trust anybody but my family anymore… one time Anti said I could go to the synagogue, but I was too scared even to go… everybody is a threat.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: They've made a vow to us that they won't harm you, Dok. Don't be afraid :) we got your back

Dok breathes out a low sigh and swallows.

“Okay. Okay. They haven’t hurt me yet. Or the ones I’ve met, anyway. I don’t think that Old Man likes me, JP said… and the medic girl, she doesn’t like me. I don’t want her to touch me.”

He wraps his arms around himself.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What have you been doing to keep busy, Dok?

“I sleep… I’m so tired. I haven’t really been… coherent enough to do much of anything this last week, but now…”

He chuckles, rubbing his arms. “Well, I confess a little boredom, but that’s the least of my worries, really.”

cest-mellow asked: magicians, did you guys do something to dok’s head?

The magicians seem to have found a way to share JP’s little network for your messages across devices, because you find yourself looking through a phone camera at Genesis and Hermann.

“Oh, yay, it is working,” he says.

“To his head?” asks Genesis.

“Oh, no, no, certainly not,” says Hermann. “What, hit him or hypnotize him or something like that? No, he’s okay. Is he scared of that?”

“It’s not surprising for him to be confused,” says Genesis.

And then, after a moment, she adds, “It was the same way with me, when I started to realize I hated my parents. It’s like - what, am I really thinking these things? Is this really all true? I think it would have been almost a relief to wonder if someone was hypnotizing me, so I didn’t have to admit what I was thinking.”

Hermann gives her privacy to say it, turning away and busying himself with whatever they’re working on. A moment later, he straightens up with his arms laden with bags and boxes and a backpack thrown over his shoulder.

“Good news, though,” he says, smiling at you. “We finished going through all the things they had in the car, so now the medico can see everything that didn’t seem dangerous. Do you think he’ll like having his stuff back?”

“We think this is his,” adds Genesis, holding up Dok’s nice white doctor’s coat. “Yeah?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Where'd you find that? I'm sure he'll love to have it back!

“They left their car behind,” says Genesis. “So everything that wasn’t on the backs of the others is with us now!”

nikkilbook asked: Could have sworn Marvin had a Lapwing tattoo...? Pretty sure he was in the Irish order. And just in case, check for the name “Marvin McLoughlin.” Not sure if that’s the one, but I figure it’s worth a shot.

“Oh, I do,” mumbles Blue.

You find him laid out in a new bed, dressed in white, looking very tired, but cozy beneath his covers.

“Yes, I think that’s what it is. A lapwing. I don’t remember well…”

———————

“Oh, Lapwing,” says JP, nodding at his computer. “Oh, excellent. Oh, perfect, thank you, thank you. An Irish magician. I will find him.”

Anonymous asked: Hello Marv, how are you feeling?

“A little zoned out,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “They gave me something different. I don’t mind, though. It calmed me down. Now I’m not so upset. I felt like I couldn’t even handle last night. But now I’m just drifting…”

He shivers, once.

“I’m just scared of what Anti will do to me… to Trick…”

bupine asked: what else was in the car, magicians?

“Well, we did find some creepy stuff,” confesses Hermann, frowning. “Like… masks and stuff.”

“Chains.”

“Yeah, things to torture people, you know, like - blowtorch?”

“Yeah, that’s the word. And this weird electric set-up. Like these bars that could shock you. Really fucked up stuff.”

“But then the rest of it is just normal stuff!” Hermann puts his hand in one of the boxes and rifles through. “Games, toys, books, art stuff. Mostly clothes!”

“We’ll let the medico look through the rest of it.”

bupine asked: hey anti, is trick ok?

Anti glances up at you, a warning in his eyes.

He’s sitting on his bed, eating cold red curry out of the take-out box while he works on his computer. It looks to be late afternoon with that much light coming in the window.

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t move you, either, and you can see a figure laid out in the bed beside him, his messy hair fluffed against the pillows, breathing deep and steady as he sleeps.

aether-mae asked: Hey magicians, i was wondering if we could lead the other brothers who are also separated from the demon to you. Is there a location we could ask them to meet you at?

“Oh, please do,” begs Hermann, eyes wide. “Please bring the other boys here. We would really keep them safe, I do promise. I… I don’t know where we could meet them, I’d have to ask Emmanuela.”

“Good look convincing them,” mumbles Genesis, looking unconvinced, but sad too, because she knows even better than Hermann the way that they were living.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: You need to take care of him, Anti. He can't deal with your crap, okay?

Anti chooses to type his answers back to you. Actually, he doesn’t look to be typing at all, but his words show up on your screen nevertheless.

“What about this makes you think I’m not taking care of him?”

scunneredzombie asked: Y'know Anti... as horrid as all the things you're doing are, I'm starting to notice something. In your own weird way, you really do adore your brothers. You've said before you're incapable of love but, honestly? I doubt that. You love them. You want family just as much as they do. Why not give it to them, Anti? Why do you have to hurt them, why not allow you all to be a family? A normal, healthy, family?

Anti’s mouth opens angrily, and then he blushes dark, realizing he’s been caught red-handed showing mercy to one of his puppets.

“I do not adore him,” he sends you, eyes flashing. “He’s a guard dog. But if you want to believe I’m secretly a soft, loving, lonely little boy, hey - go right the fuck ahead.”

He smiles meanly at you.

“Family is a manipulation tactic. Trickshot is a pet.”

Anonymous asked: “What about this makes you think I’m not taking care of him?” Because you're you. Do we even have to elaborate?

“I can be nice,” types Anti, and gives you a mocking smile.

Trick shifts on the bed next to him and Anti’s face returns to apathetic concentration, putting another chopstick-full of curry in his mouth.

“Anti,” mumbles Trick, half asleep. Anti reaches back without looking to rub his back and Trick sighs warmly.

Anonymous asked: Magos, your goal is admirable, but you should know that it's futile on its current course. Do any of you have phones? Computers? Radios, even? Do you ever leave base? Do you have family, friends, with those things who live off-base? Then you're not secure enough to hide from the demon. He'll find you all, kill you all, and take Dok back for himself. If you can't find and save ALL the brothers soon, you'd just as well drop Dok off where the demon can find him, and maybe you'll survive longer.

Genesis has a fight in her eyes and she opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, Hermann is speaking, louder than you’ve ever heard him.

“Well, maybe so!” he says, scattering the birds from the trees.

He puts his head down and repeats it.

“Maybe so. Maybe the monster will find him again. Maybe the monster will find us and take him away. But I think… I think a week, two weeks, a month of being treated like a human being, as long as we can give him or his brothers being treated like a human being, with kindness, with respect, with basic needs - that…”

He nods his head, slow.

“That is worth it. That is worth whatever happens. That is a cause to die for. You hear about tragedies, sometimes, from afar, and so many people must have felt so hopeless… alone, even as they died. A moment of mercy is worth it. Maybe I can’t save them, but… I can help. I know that the magician is alive because of me. And that was worth it. I believe that, I do.”

He stares at the floor for a moment, and then, a little reddened from the passion of it, he turns to smile at Genesis and mumbles something about bringing Dok the first of his things before turning to shuffle away.

Genesis shoots you a look.

“Hermann is a man of God,” she says. “But I will fuck your shit up! Your monster was a little bitch on the shore of that river, there, I said it! Ran with his tail between his legs! Fuck it! We’re going to do the best we can. And if that doesn’t work, well, I’ll leave it to over-invested poets like that dumb-ass to make it okay.”

She beams fondly after Hermann and scoops up the rest of the boxes and backpacks, but as she moves, you see the smile on her face flicker away into worry.

Anonymous asked: Hermann, I think the glitch might be hiding somewhere in Asia, from what I can see.

“Oh, tell Emmanuela!” calls Hermann, when Genesis catches up to him.

“Oh, I don’t remember what JP said about sending the messages.”

“There’s like a button that - that one?”

“I don’t - oh, and then, Emmanuela - oh, it’s gone!”

“Is it with her?”

“Is it - yeah, I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

They pause, looking at each other.

“I’ll text her,” says Genesis.

—————————

You find Emmanuela in a small white office, flowers blooming on the shelf beside her. She’s writing something. She barely looks up as the message reaches her computer.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says.

The dark sheen of her hair glows in the morning light, falling down her back.

“You were right to mention it. You seem to be right. The sunbirds were a young order. Small and intimate. Not someone I’ve communicated with before, but someone I know of. Caleb was their leader’s name.”

She pauses for a moment in her writing. Her expression does not change. She stares ahead.

“The sunbirds are dead,” she says, and continues her work.

immabethehero asked: Red, Dap, if we said we could get you somewhere safe and off the streets, but away from Anti, would you take it?

Red glances at the camera, his eyebrow quirking up, a deep frown on his mouth.

“That sounds suspicious,” he says, getting a cup for water. “And I’m trying to get back to Anti, not farther away from him.”

He can’t keep a little irritation out of his voice.

bupine asked: we kind of do know why anti stole the brothers away. it's to do with a man called jack, who anti used to be friends with. we think he's still alive, but even anti doesn't know where he is. the brothers used to be friends with him. we don't know what happened to him, but all this revolves around this man.

“Hm, okay,” says JP, working at his computer, books stacked around him. He stretches his wrists, thinking. “I guess I could look for a Jack in the Lapwing records too. Ireland has a large magical order, though, even bigger than the whole of Peru.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Blue? Trick is... taking a social media break from us so we can't talk to him. I'm sorry he didn't take things well but you're right in taking care of yourself first. We need you to have your head on straight and you're heading in the right direction and we support that. We'll help you however we can.

“A social media break,” says Blue, and a laugh starts before the rest of the message registers.

“What… he won’t even talk to you?”

He pauses, staring at the wall.

“Give him time,” he mumbles finally, grief in his voice. “I’m sure he’ll… I’m sure he’ll come around, right?”

For a moment, there is nothing but the movement of footsteps in the hall and the buzzing of the lights.

And then, weakly:

“He didn’t… come to see me this morning. He comes to see me every morning… so I’m not alone all day.”

Swish, swish, click. Footsteps past his door. Thrumming lights. The largeness of his room and the smallness of himself inside of it. He rubs his own arm.

bupine asked: we're not trying to hurt trick, anti. we just want to know he's alright. how has he been? he won't talk to us anymore.

“Oh, I know you’re not,” types Anti, now not even looking at you, playing with Trick’s hair. Trick hums contentedly and scoots closer to Anti, relief so great it looks painful flickering through his face. “I know how attached you are to all of them. Some more than others, sure. But I know.”

He scratches his hand across Trick’s scalp. There’s a faint meowing outside the door, confused.

“He just needs a rest. Not like him to come begging to me, so I know he must have been really upset. Dok’s not here to comfort the little baby, so I’ll have to.”

Anti pauses, scratching beside Trick’s ear, humming a little as the light pours in. A big pink flower blooms on the headboard, but Anti hardly seems to notice.

“Then again, it is nice to have someone all sweet to myself again. I miss sleeping with my Dapper. And Trick is just so - ”

The typing pauses. Trick has slid an eye open, staring wearily, brokenly, lovingly up at Anti.

Anti runs his thumb down his face. He looks so much like him. Anti had almost forgotten. It’s been a long time since he spared Trick a glance. It used to upset him, the similarity there. But now…

Anti scratches gently through his beard, watching his boy. Maybe he’ll cut his hair today.

aether-mae asked: Dok! You need to get the magicians to find Red. We can try and get his location as best we can but we need to get him to you asap before he can get to anti

Dok recoils, holding his shoulders. “What - lead Red here? No, no, no, Red should be with Anti. We all should. I should be with Anti. Nobody here understands! Even if they are nice, they don’t understand and they never will! And Red - Red killed one of them. If there are people here who don’t like me, I can only imagine what they might think of him. No, no, keep him far away. I bet it’s easier for Anti to find him if he’s not here. Anti will get Red and then Anti will get me, too, and everything will be okay.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: How do you all protect yourselves from attacks? Do you even get attacked, magicos?

“Ah, well,” says JP, continuing to type. “We’re in a very secure location, I can tell you that. It’s hidden in more ways than one. No one has ever attacked us at our home base, except one time when she was young Juana was possessed! But that hasn’t happened since. Something would have to get inside that was already a threat. And to be fair, there are quite a few powerful magicians here. Emmanuela, Christof - ”

He blanches and cuts himself down, a sudden grief twisting up his mouth.

Anonymous asked: Hey Anti can you let Trick feed his cat please? I know you won't do it but someone should.

“He feeds that cat just fine. It can wait another half hour for him to wake up.”

He is smiling down at Trick, watching him drift sleepily besides him. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so fond of him. Been too long since he had Dapper. Or anybody. He’s just been watching Blue sleep all week. Trick doesn’t even know you’re there, and Anti does not give it away.

Anonymous asked: Blue, you're going through a fucking lot right now. I can't imagine what it's like for you. But! What I can imagine is you at least getting to see everyone again! Don't ask me how, but I know there are currently people (good and safe people) out there researching on what's happened, how to help you, and even who you used to be. Please don't give up, there is hope out there, and we'll do our best to support you and let you know what's going on with your brothers.

Blue clasps his hands together, nodding slowly, too tired to cry.

“Thank you. I’m… I’ll do my best.”

He rubs at his face and breathes out a shuddering breath.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Blue? Do you trust the magicians??

“I don’t know,” he says, very small and very tired. “I don’t know anything anymore. Magicians are just people. And people can always turn out to be hateful. I don’t know.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, please just let Trick rest for the night... He feels really dejected because Blue wouldn't come with him, as you see, and he's really not doing well without any brothers, besides yourself, to help take care of and to live with.

“I think it has been hard for him, being away from everyone,” agrees Anti. “So needy.”

He smiles, but then a flash of anger rises on his face.

“Of course, that’s why Blue was supposed to come home. So Trick could have someone to take care of and be taken care of by. Guess I’ll just have to keep him in line myself.”

spicydanhowell asked: hey red? anti's actually quite close to finding dok, and the magicians have kept him healthy and fed, so if you go to them they will give you protection from the police, food, and medicine, and anti will come get you soon, And dok is missing you both so much :( anti will never find you if you run around like this. the magicians are really harmless. it would be best for dap to go there right now so he can be fed and medicated and get back to anti quickly. love you hunny, be safe.

Red squirms, standing close to Dap protectively. “I don’t know what they would do to a kid as powerful as him,” he says. “And even if they’re nice to Dok, we - we both hurt them. I killed that guy with the book and Dapper stabbed one and tortured the other.”

Dapper stares at his bear, seeming to not even hear.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it. I don’t - I just - I just want to go back to Anti!” He clutches his fists, overwhelmed. “And we can’t go anywhere now anyway. We don’t have a way to travel until I get more money and I got this place for another couple nights. As long as the cops don’t find us. And I think I’m even more wanted in Peru than I am here. I just - I want - ”

He cuts himself off again, biting down on his lip.

spicydanhowell asked: marv, chase is just sleeping, okay? i think he's really worn out from all the emotion. he's okay though. anti is being kind to him. he hasn't been punished. please don't worry dear.

“Oh, good,” breathes Blue, closing his eyes. “He’s not hurt. And maybe - maybe he’ll come see me when he wakes up. If Anti lets him. He wouldn’t choose not to come see me…”

Anonymous asked: How are you feeling right now Marvin? It might be good to get it out there if you're feeling up to it.

“Please don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’m just tired. I’m starting to think this fatigue won’t go away. I can’t even walk today. The nurse has to help me. Still got this in my nose.”

He tugs wearily on his nasal cannula.

“Just feel… alone. And pretty pathetic. And I’m angry, I’m angry, I’m so angry.”

He covers his face with his hands.

“At everything.”

Anonymous asked: how long is the psychiatric hold supposed to last? were you evaluated yet blue? sorry if that's personal, but i guess this is actually a fib so maybe not.

“Someone’s supposed to come talk to me today. I just had an entrance exam. The only asked me like five questions. I think the doctor had been waiting for an admission like this. I don’t know how long they can keep me…”

spicydanhowell asked: its okay if you want to stay away a little longer red, but the magicians have told us that theyd happily take care of both of you. there are no hard feelings. they really, truly care about your family, and it is the best way to get back to anti. he is going to get there soon, and he'll be glad you took dap to a safe place

“I don’t need anyone taking care of my little brothers for me!” snaps Red, heat and shame rising in his cheeks. “And Anti would not want us to be there. No matter what choice I make I know that much for certain.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What else did you find?

“Hey, medico?”

There’s a knock on his door and Dok jolts up, blinking ans clutching you to his chest. Hermann pokes his head in a moment later, smiling gently.

“Hey, we’ve got some of your stuff from the car you guys took. Do you want to see it?”

Some of his stuff?

Dok blinks and then nods slowly, trying not to get his hopes up.

Genesis and Hermann bring him two backpacks, two boxes, and his own little draw-string bag. Relieved, he opens it a finds all of his own clothes inside.

“Thank you,” he gasps, clutching one of his three shirts to his chest.

“We got rid of anything electronic,” says Genesis. “Figured that was safer.”

A worm of distress wiggles through his chest, but he’ll take what he can get. “I know the way you think about my brother. I’m glad to have - oh!”

His coffee! From Trick!

He nearly drops you to hold it, squeezing his hands around the bag.

“We’ll let you look through it,” laughs Genesis.

“Yeah, let us know if you need anything,” adds Hermann, smiling.

They leave and shut the door behind them.

The lock does not click.

Dok stares up at it for a moment, thinking.

But he’ll focus on this for now.

Most everything is either his or Dapper’s or Blue’s. He hopes Red and Trick have most of their things. He has Blue’s clothes and more jewelry than he expected in one of the boxes, stuff he’s never even seen Blue wear before. Dapper’s clothes are here too - there’s more of them than Blue’s and Dok’s combined, hot sweatshirts and starchy dress shirts, nice pants and tight black shoes, even though he never leaves the house. One of the backpacks has paper, sketchpads, watercolors, colored pencils, chalks, and erasers. Dok puts a sketchpad beside him to look at later. Dap’s puppet toys are here too, and some nice red cloth and fairy lights. Dok can tell some stuff has been taken out, like collars and wrist restraints.

aether-mae asked: (For the magicians) Great! Yes! We would be more than happy to bring them to you, but we just need a location to ask them to come to. I was thinking we tell them anti is going to collect them there

Emmanuela drums her fingers along her desk, tilting her head at you.

“If there are others who can make it back - and if we can confirm that they aren’t possessed by the monster - your friends can come to the Church of Santo Domingo. We could meet them there. We are not far. They could wait by the skull of Santa Rosa inside. Be cautious not to lose their trust.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey Dap! Does the Church of Santa Dominigo ring any bells?

Dapper’s head perks up.

“Red and Blue would not let me see her!”

“Are you talking about that day you ran off?” frowns Red.

“I went to the convent, and I hid in the corner, and across the street was the church with her skull, and I wanted to see. In Saint Dominic’s Church. But we had to go rob a car instead.”

He puts his head down on his hand.

“You got a churro, though,” says Red uncertainly, confused by his mood. “That was good, right?”

Dapper stares at the wall, eyes downcast.

Red glances at you. “It’s, uh. In the middle of the city. Hard to miss. I’ve passed it many times.”

spicydanhowell asked: red... i don't want to upset you... but how else is he going to find you if you keep running around like this? the rule of thumb when you're lost and waiting for rescue is to stay in one place, and the best place to be would definitely be the place anti is going to go to once blue is out of the hospital. you might be there a only a few days, and you won't have to go hungry, or lock dapper up in a room or handcuff him to a church pew. you'll be safe. you'll get home, i promise hunny.

Red lets out a frustrated huff, trying to pretend he’s not considering it. It would be so nice to feel like Dapper was safe somewhere, even if they were prisoners.

“Anti… Anti’s going to find us. He is.”

They could have plenty to eat, they could sleep in beds, they could -

“Well, I don’t know that,” he interrupts himself, scowling. “We’re both much more wanted than Dok is. I don’t know if he has a criminal record at all. They could just turn us over to the police. For all I know, you’re one of them!”

He scuffs his foot against the floor, irritated by his own helplessness.

“Never mind,” he grumbles. “I gotta focus on right now. Dap, I’m going out, okay, I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Dapper jumps out of bed, alarm on his face, and races towards his shoes by the door.

“Dap! No. You could have another snap at any time. You need routine, right? A steady environment with no surprises. You’re staying here.”

Almost panting, Dapper tugs his right shoe on, tying the laces tight, tight!

“Dapper, come on, are you kidding?” Red stalks over to him and snatches the other shoe out of his hand before he can put it on. “I could get in a fight! It’s not safe. And I’ll be more discreet alone.”

But Dapper isn’t listening, or if he is, he doesn’t agree. His hands scramble up for the shoe, once, twice, but when Red doesn’t give it to him he grabs his brother’s jacket and looks up at him with big puppy eyes, desperately sweet, and once again Red feels his skin crawl from the falseness of it, and he knows that his brother is trying to manipulate him.

“Is Anti the one who taught you to act like a fucking two-year-old to get what you want?” he asks, before he has thought the words through. “Or have you always been this much of a baby?”

The expression slides off Dapper’s face. Now he stares dead-eyed at Red, his big eyes cold and motionless. He seems suddenly hollow, like his heart was pulled out of his chest, like he doesn’t remember what it is to emote, like he feels nothing at all, and this time, it is the truth of the expression that makes Red’s heart clench in his chest.

He backs slightly away from his little brother.

Jameson keeps staring at him, those pale eyes fixed like a dead thing’s upon him.

aether-mae asked: Hey Red, we’ve been talking with Anti and arranged for him to pick you up at the Church of Santo Domingo. he will collect you if you wait by the skull of Santa Rosa. Then you’ll be back with your brothers!

Red stares at you, expression uncertain. He glances down at Dapper, on the floor on his feet.

“Right,” he says slowly. “Anti would definitely pick a very public, very Catholic, very close-to-where-we-were-when-the-magicians-found-us church to meet me at.”

Red stares down at Dapper’s shoe in his hand for a second.

“Sorry,” he says, but you don’t know who to. “Just… forget it.”

Anonymous asked: If family is a lie then you wouldn't kill people just to keep them safe. If they're just pets you wouldn't care than half of them are gone right now. If you didn't love them you wouldn't hold onto them so tight. You may not be a uwu secret softy, but even a bastard like you has weaknesses. And you have five of them, Antisepticeye.

“Please.” Anti scowls as the words appear, letting Trick get up beside him, rubbing at his eyes as he starts his late day. “You wouldn’t care if someone stole three of your dogs? The dogs that greet you every day when you come home, the dogs that sleep next to you and keep you warm, the dogs that guard your door when you’re in danger and wag their little tails when you pat them on their dumb little heads?

“And secondly, I love killing people. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’d kill one of them if I had to, I would!”

He stares after Trick, moving around the room.

“I would. I could. Wouldn’t even hurt…”

Anonymous asked: Ohhh what’s this Anti? Is Marvin’s magic making you all soft and feel-y? Better be careful, love.

“Aw, you are all some real fuckers today, aren’t you? You know what, Trick was right!”

He flicks you off unceremoniously, smiling smugly.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Dap? Are you comfortable with leaving on your own if you needed to?

Dapper sighs a very long sigh, so his whole chest seems to deflate. He doesn’t even look at you.

“No point.”

Anonymous asked: Anti your lack of self awareness is kinda hilarious. Mr. "no one will take my boys, stay away from my family" claiming he could ever kill one of them.

The message never reaches a camera, but Anti is too hooked up to his system to not receive it himself. You see his ears redden a little and he takes his hand off Trick’s back, where he’d been rubbing it, but Trick, apparently safely and blissfully convinced that Anti is in a good mood with him, is already leaning forward to wrap his arms around Anti’s neck and put his head down on his shoulder, murmuring something you can’t make out.

Anti’s can’t push him away. His expression is a little angry, but not at Trick.

aether-mae asked: Dap if you go, red will surely follow after. He’s already starting to realise anti is treating you all badly, and with more brothers away from him than with him, there’s more of a chance than ever to be free. Do it for them, Jamie

“Always just go back to Anti,” mumbles Jameson, slinking back towards his bed. “I don’t even feel like a person anymore.”

Red looks disturbed by the sudden change in mood, but he’s grateful Dapper’s not trying to leave anymore. He nods to himself and starts putting on his own shoes and jacket.

“Almost want to run away just to spite him,” JJ confesses, staring at his brother’s back. “But it’s not him who wants to do anything that he does - say anything that he does - treat me the way he does. It’s just Anti’s influence on him. I know what that feels like. I wanted to keep him safe from this, when I was young, the way he kept me safe. Made me feel safe. Let me live a real life, if only for a short time. Now I don’t think I have the strength to save anyone. Anyway, it’s so hard to trust myself when I’m psychotic. I’ll have lost track of everything again soon.”

He lies back, staring at the ceiling.

“Probably better that way. It’s difficult to remember… difficult to see who I am now. Look at this place… look at me. He broke me in just like he always told me he would. I’ve never known a fatigue like this.”

Anonymous asked: I know this isn’t the time for this, but it is beyond refreshing to see you Jameson.

Jameson manages a real smile at that - wide and white, laughter making his chest shake.

“I wish I had my medication. I could be so clear. I can’t remember the last time I felt this clear. How… cold it is.”

“I’m, uh, leaving,” says Red. “You okay?”

“Just go,” signs JJ wearily. “Your mind is set.”

Red looks at you. “You want to come with me or stay with him?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Red, you better get going. The more you dawdle, the less focused you're gonna be

“Yeesh, I get it,” he says. “Everybody likes the little guy. Bye. Dap, two hours max. I’m locking the door out here. Handcuff’s attached to the handle and the beam here. Better than your wrists, right?”

His brother looks at him but doesn’t wave him goodbye.

Red leaves him alone.

cest-mellow asked: dapper, i think you should go to the church, be with dok and have a safe place to eat and sleep, have routine. even if it’s without red, we could get him there, too, he’ll surely follow you once he knows. and if anti tried to take you again you have tons of magicians to keep you safe. i really think you should leave once red is gone.

“He’s locked me in. Maybe I could rip the beam off the wall or sneak out later, but… I don’t know. What would you have me do? I’ll be back in my own head again soon. I’m hallucinating right now and most of the time, lately. My paranoia is unbearable, I don’t even trust Red. It would take me days to get there, on foot or stealing so I could take a bus. I could go into a catatonia again and then authorities would get involved and I’d go to prison.”

He rubs slowly at his face.

“What… what would you have me do? Would you have me go? Maybe it doesn’t matter… Maybe I could try.”

aether-mae asked: Jamie please, we will guide you, we promise. You’re so close, so so close. If you reach the church we can reuinite you with doc AND get you a warm bed, warm meals and protection from anti. You can do this, you can be strong just for a little longer

“Comfort means little to me. It never lasts. I don’t believe anymore that my strength has any bearing on what happens to me. Nothing is in my control. This life is not mine. Easier to be Dapper.”

He laughs a little, splayed out on the bed.

“When I forget I want to remember again, but when I remember, I know it’s better to forget…”

He stares at the ceiling.

“Could leave the city and begin walking again, I suppose. It’s a long walk. But pain is just pain, it passes, and then it means little whether or not it passed, it’s in the past. I’d like to see Henrik, even if he is a ghost, I’d like to see Henrik and have my medication and hold onto him when he was scared. He doesn’t like to admit it but he’s often scared, shh. I’d like to see him again.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: There's always a point, Dap. Maybe you can save your brothers If you got away....even for a little while

Jameson stares up at whatever he sees for a long time. His finger reaches up to trace the lines of it, branching and broken, back and forth, stuttering or whole.

“I think… it’s cruel that Anti lets you watch,” he says after a moment. “Because… you have hope that none of the rest of us have. And I think the most likely thing is that one day, you’ll see us give the last dregs of it up, and maybe some of us will die. Or maybe that’s just… my hope… Maybe I’d just like this last part of myself that still hopes for something I can never have to die.”

He puts his finger down and touches his heart, his eyes weary.

“If you’d still like me to run… tell me again in a few hours, when Red is back and sleeping, and we can try, perhaps, if I’m well enough. If only to remind him… if only to remind myself… that I still possess the ability to make choices for myself. That I am still an adult.”

He turns on his side, curling his arms around himself. “Perhaps I’ll sleep a while. I can hear something coming down the hall towards me. I’d like to be unconscious before my mind decides it is a monster.”

spicydanhowell asked: hey marv? sorry to bug you again but- since you have your head on a little straighter right now, and jameson is remembering himself better at the moment, is there anything you want to say to him? from the real you to the real him? he could definitely use a bit of encouragement.

“Oh, is he feeling okay?” murmurs Blue. “Poor suffering little hideaway.”

He’s sitting up in bed now, a little color back in his cheeks and, speaking of color, he’s got a little box of pencils and a coloring book. He’s filling in a little ocean scene with fish.

“Um… just… if you could tell him… I love him and I’ll find him again.”

He pauses, staring at his own wrist for a second where the white hospital band hangs.

“If not in this life, then in another one.”

He bites down on the back of his pencil.

“No, don’t say that, I’ll scare him. I’ll find him again. I’ll see him again and I love him, I do.”

Anonymous asked: blue, being suicidal was a lie, right?

“I… oh, don’t worry. Yes, I’m… just… quite sick.”

You can see his coloring page. He hasn’t been able to stay within the lines, but whether it’s from his trembling hands or his damaged eyesight, you can’t say.

“And I don’t know what Anti will do to me if I can’t be his anymore. And I don’t know if they’re so far away Anti won’t find them. Or if they’ll be arrested. Or if maybe it’s better for them to be where they are and never see me again. Or if it would be easier to die.”

He adjusts his nasal cannula, sniffling. “Can’t die til I know they’re all going to be safe without me… but I feel, already, like I’m dead. I don’t know how I’m ever going to escape this place.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Hey Anti, how's Trick holding up? Can we see him?

Anti’s got you on his shoulder again, so you can’t see much but his hands, examining the price tag on a bright blue hoodie with white strings. He glances at you and scoffs, but obliges you, taking the hoodie off the rack and heading down a few aisles.

“How do you like that?” he asks, holding up the sweater.

Trick startles and turns away from a row of wine, plucking at his white t-shirt. “Oh! For me?”

“If I don’t have to buy Blue new shit, might as well get my good one something fun.”

He ruffles Trick’s hair and makes him laugh, shoving back at Anti’s hands. His face has a nice warm color to it and his hair is clean and soft.

“Maybe I’ll dye your hair,” says Anti suddenly.

“Oh - yeah?”

“Yeah. You used to have it dyed. I didn’t mind.”

Trick is willing to take just about any form of Anti’s attention and even the thought of having his hair dyed makes his face light up. He touches his fringe hopefully and smiles at his brother.

“Get yourself some snacks,” says Anti, playing with his hair again as he passes him. “Whatever you want.”

“Okay!”

Anonymous asked: Marv don’t give up hope so soon, there’s still so much we can do.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I think it’s just hard to be alone in the hospital.”

His eyes water and he turns away from you.

“But!” he says a second later, turning back with a smile. “I have a coloring book! So I’m just going to think about fish for a while. Oh, and a counselor lady came to talk to me yesterday and it went well. Really nice. I wish Trick could talk to her. And she kept going ‘given what Dr. Siong says’ so I think they’re talking about keeping me here a while. Because they know I might not be safe at home.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Marv...if Dap had a chance to get away from Anti...would you be upset with him?

“Upset with him! No, never. Fuck, I understand, don’t I? I’d run away with him if I could and the two of us would go live somewhere nice where we were safe with each other - home to Ireland, maybe. I don’t even remember the sight of it, you know. Not the smell or the taste in the air. It’s a foreign country to me. Or I’ll take him to England and he can have tea like he likes and there will be other people who speak BSL so he doesn’t feel so apart from the world. We’d go out on walks everyday and he’d never have to see his door closed again if he didn’t want to. Find jobs and buy him a violin with the money. A violin and charcoal and clothes and food and everything he wanted. Pets, I don’t care, anything he wanted.”

He laughs and puts his hand over his heart. “Oh… upset, no… but even if he has to go now, and I could never see him again… it would be worth it to know that he was safe. At least one of them could be safe.”

Anonymous asked: That’s good that others are trying to help! Y’know marv, I recently started baking and I made macarons for the first time! I made them entirely too sweet lol but due to my stubbornness I ate them all anyways haha. It was a fun experience! That’s what matters, anyways. So when you get out of here and away, what would be the first thing that you would make?

“Oh, macarons, those sound good right now. And fun to bake, yeah… geez, what would I make? I don’t know. Oh… brown butter noodles. With the bread crumbs. Or pecan pie, maybe, or… oh, I would die for some of Chase’s - ”

His mouth pauses on the word and his eyes darken, a vague memory sitting in the place of the word.

“Oh, I can’t… remember.”

He chews on his nail for a second.

“Brown butter noodles,” he says after a moment, shaking it off and smiling again. “Parsley and bread crumbs and so many carbs. I’d eat a whole box of it.”

Anonymous asked: That’s good that others are trying to help! Y’know marv, I recently started baking and I made macarons for the first time! I made them entirely too sweet lol but due to my stubbornness I ate them all anyways haha. It was a fun experience! That’s what matters, anyways. So when you get out of here and away, what would be the first thing that you would make?

“Oh, macarons, those sound good right now. And fun to bake, yeah… geez, what would I make? I don’t know. Oh… brown butter noodles. With the bread crumbs. Or pecan pie, maybe, or… oh, I would die for some of Chase’s - ”

His mouth pauses on the word and his eyes darken, a vague memory sitting in the place of the word.

“Oh, I can’t… remember.”

He chews on his nail for a second.

“Brown butter noodles,” he says after a moment, shaking it off and smiling again. “Parsley and bread crumbs and so many carbs. I’d eat a whole box of it.”

Anonymous asked: Um actually I don’t think we’ve asked you this yet, but do you want to be called Blue? Or Marvin? Does either bother you at all?

“I don’t remember being Marvin at all,” he says, a little wistfully. “The name doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. Blue seems strange, knowing Anti gave it to me… but it’s also the name my brothers know me by. So I’ll be Blue for them, as long as I can. Maybe someday I could be somebody else. But you can call me either, I don’t mind! I’m glad to have that old name in my memory.”

bupine asked: what colour are you thinking of dying trick's hair, anti? not blue, red, or green, i assume. gonna complete the set of colours and go for yellow?

“No,” mumbles Anti. “I don’t answer to you, you can wait and see.”

Anonymous asked: Wait, a blue hoodie with dyed hair... I'm assuming you're thinking green for the color? Wouldn't that be a very "familiar" sight, uh? >_>

Anti ignores you, though, once again, you see a little color rise to his ears. He’s sitting with Trick on the bus and you can hear his little brother chattering about some game he heard about at the store. He doesn’t mind the sound of him ranting, even though they’re by far the loudest group on the bus.

“Okay, go,” nudges Anti when a stop comes, and Trick gets up obediently.

“Bye, Anti!”

“Bye, bud.”

Oh! Bud! Trick grins. “You’ll come home later?”

“Yeah, just give me a little while.”

“I could cook you something!”

Anti glances down at his hands. Even he isn’t sure how corporeal he is these days.

“Um… sure.”

Trick claps. “Okay! Okay, yeah, cool, whatever.” He calms himself down and gives him one more wave, heading off the bus.

Anti lets himself continue, waiting for his own stop, pulling out his phone and typing away. You’re on his shoulder so you can see that he’s hacking into a police database in Ecuador right there on his phone.

“Sick of trying to split myself in half trying to go back to Peru and look for them in form,” he sighs, a little sing-song. “From now on my investigations are happening from right here. Red and Dapper are sure to have run into trouble already… just have to find the right criminals.”

Anonymous asked: Marvin, how are you doing? Do you feel more safe now that the hospital is holding you?

“I… still feel scared about what’s going to happen - with my health and with going home and to Trick and the others - but… yeah, I do, I actually do. I’m just trying to focus on being here, while I’m okay. Having a good couple days, if I can, just sleeping and trying to find stuff to do.”

He laughs wearily.

“Is Dapper this bored and alone all the time? Cause I - ”

Someone knocks on his door. He looks up, startled.

“Hi, Matthew.”

“Hi,” he answers the nurse, finding a smile.

“Your brother Connor is here to see you?”

Blue lights up with hope, his hands coming together.

“Oh! Yeah, you can send him in.”

The nurse smiles and opens the door wider before turning to leave, revealing his brother standing in a red t-shirt with a backpack slung over his shoulders, his healthy hair, cut just the same as Dok’s, beginning to get low over his eyes.

“Hey B-blue,”  he says, shuffling his feet.

“Trick,” melts Blue, tears rising to his eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry everything got so out-of-control so fast. Sweetheart, it’s not because of you, okay? I still - ”

“You don’t have to apologize,” mumbles Trick, running a hand through his hair before slinking over and sitting down beside him, still staring more at his feet than at Blue. “Can you just… explain?”

bupine asked: tell him about how anti's lied to him, marvin. he has to know, even if he won't believe you.

“I’ll tell you everything,” swears Blue, reaching out to touch the side of his face, his voice shaking with the love of it. He knows every freckle on Trick’s face that no one else has, knows the small scar at the bottom of his chin and the small stammer of his voice. His little brother. “I love you so much and that will never change. It wasn’t about you, of course it wasn’t. I just need you to listen, alright, and even if it doesn’t make sense at first, you have to try to believe me. Okay?”

Trick nuzzles against his hand a little, his big eyes wide and trusting. “Okay, Blue,” he says, his mouth trembling a little. Blue knows sometimes it’s hard for him to hear that he’s loved, but he means it.

“I didn’t have a stroke,” he croaks.

Trick’s eyebrows lower. “You didn’t?”

“No, Trick, listen, you remember how my hands had been hurting me, and how Anti had been forcing me not to use my magic?”

“Because it could lead people to us, because he couldn’t hide your signal.”

“Right. Well, he found a way to strip that power out of me and take it for himself so he could hide it beneath his own. I know it sounds crazy! But you know magic is real and you helped Anti drag me down to the river, didn’t you? It was some sort of spell, some really dark spell. He cut my arm and he took my power from me. It’s why his power has been so erratic lately! Mine and his are struggling inside him.”

Trick stares at Blue, then at the ground. At Blue, at the ground. Swallows hard. “Okay… okay, let’s say that’s true for a second. I still don’t understand why you won’t come home to me…”

“Trick, I’m just - ” Blue’s voice breaks. “I’m just scared, okay! I know he’ll keep hurting me!”

“But you… you’re my big brother, shouldn’t you come home and protect me?”

“I - Trick, please, I’m sick, I’m really sick, and I’m scared, I just - ”

“Even though he did this to me when he heard you wouldn’t come home?” sobs Trick, and he pulls up his shirt and reveals thick swathes of bandages wrapped messily around the whole of his torso, blood welling on to white.

Blue is speechless, choking, staring at his chest.

“He won’t let me see Noodle,” Trick sobs, collapsing onto the bed. “He said he took him into his room but I can’t hear him meowing, not ever! I think he killed him!”

He unravels into weeping, clutching at Blue’s bedsheets. Blue cannot speak at all.

“I think he’ll kill me too if you don’t come home!”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Trick, listen to your big brother. He wouldn't lie to you.

“Maybe Anti does hurt me sometimes, but he still loves me!” shudders Trick, sobbing as Blue leans slowly down to rub his back. “What would we even do, if we tried to get away? Have you thought about it at all?”

“I don’t know,” whispers Blue. “I don’t have magic anymore, so he couldn’t track me through it. I don’t think I’m well enough to run right now, though… Maybe we could soon. We could try and get your cat and then… I think the doctor here would try to help us.”

“Really?”

“We could maybe get to another country, live with electronics, hide, find a way to stay away from him.”

“Where would we go?”

“I… don’t know. Anywhere. Back home, maybe… but maybe that’s too predictable. Somewhere I speak the language. America, maybe, or Spain, or back to South America. Maybe I could even hurt him, before I went, so he couldn’t catch us.”

“H-how would you do that?”

“You’re with him at the house. He trusts you. Even if we could just get one blow on him before he gets away…”

Anonymous asked: Oh g-d Trick...what if you just ran? Got as far away as possible where there are no cameras for him to find you? We could get someone to help you if you wanted.

“Someone could help us,” whispers Trick.

“If I told the doctor and the counselor, they might be able to keep us both away from him! What if you told them you needed to be monitored too, Trick? We could get police involved. We’d be in the records, people would watch out for us. Maybe we could even contact the magicians in the area! Or the ones who took Dok!”

Anonymous asked: I don’t like the feeling about this, forgive me for being apprehensive, but Trick weren’t you just excited about Anti dying your hair? Do you actually want to leave or are you trying to get information?

“He was just scaring me, I’ve been trying to be good…” hiccups Trick, simpering fearfully and reaching for Blue’s hand. “Blue, he looks at me like he’s going to kill me, I’m so scared…”

“He dyed my hair too,” he laughs morbidly. “I remember it, just a little bit… waking up with my hair blue, not knowing my own name…”

Anonymous asked: As comforting as that would be, I don’t think the police or medical staff would be enough...you would need the magicians

“Right, right,” murmurs Blue, chewing on the nail of his thumb.

“How would you contact them, Blue?” asks Trick, with his big puppy eyes.

“Oh, I think I used to remember a way…”

“But you’ve forgotten it now?”

Blue’s face falls. “Yeah. I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s okay, Blue. It’s not your fault. Anti must have really wiped your memories. So we can’t contact them unless you remember. What else could we do?”

bupine asked: blue. marvin. while trick's here, get the doctor's here. show them what anti did. make sure he doesn't go back home.

Blue nods swiftly and grabs the call button, pushing it quickly. He beckons for Trick and pulls his brother into bed beside him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close until he hears Trick’s breathing begin to calm.

“My little brother. You don’t have to go home ever again if you don’t want to. I’ll look after you, I…”

He pauses, breathing in, glancing at Trick.

“What?” mumbles Trick, slumped wearily against him.

Blue pauses again and then laughs. “It’s stupid. I think you got a new shampoo is all. Haha, rose smell.”

“Oh, yeah,” giggles Trick. “Flower smell.”

spicydanhowell asked: yeah actually that's a good point uh.... chase.... i don't mean to upset you hun but where the hell are your loyalties rn?

Trick buries his face in Blue’s shoulder.

“I just want everything to stop hurting,” he chokes. “I want my twin and my cat and for everything to feel okay. You’ll make it better, Blue, won’t you?”

“I’m doing everything I can, I am, I am.” Blue smothers his hair in kisses. Trick smiles, clutching on to him.

Anonymous asked: Blue... it might be best to go to the house with Trick. I know, trust me, how scared you must feel, going back to your abuser, your near murderer... But you need to be there for him. You need to be there for your little brother.

Trick stares up at him with his big eyes. “Oh, Blue, maybe it would be safer if we made him think you had come around… You could act really sick and I would take care of you and he wouldn’t be angry with either of us, and then, when you were better, we could attack him and get Noodle and just run. Wouldn’t that be easier? To make him think everything was okay, so neither of us would get beat?”

Blue tilts his head back and forth, thinking. “Mh… maybe… he knows I’m angry with him but I could be too tired to fight, and then one day… element of surprise might be better than him trying to get to us here while I recovered.”

“I know he’d let me take care of you.” Trick snuggles warmly against him. “We’d be okay for a little while.”

Anonymous asked: Hey Trick does Anti know you’re here?

“Oh, no, I told him I was going to get food… stalls are close, remember?” Trick smiles up at Blue.

A little too wide.

Blue looks back, beginning to frown.

Anonymous asked: Blue... I really don't... know if that's Trick... We haven't seen Anti hurt Trick or Noodle lately, and Trick shouldn't have been able to believe what you said with how much Anti's been hypnotizing him. Be careful what you say. Anti could change his shape even before he took your magic.

“Trick,” says Blue slowly. “Why would the cameras have seen something different than what you’re telling me?”

“They lie!” Trick’s eyes flash with hurt. “O-or th-they didn’t see, he did it late at night! Look, look!”

He pulls up his shirt again, and the bandages too, so Blue can see thick, weeping cuts. Blue turns away, nauseated. He can’t bear even to think about Trick getting hurt like that.

pixie-in-trebleland asked: What exactly was Anti off to do, Trick?

“He doesn’t tell me where he goes, most of the time…”

Anonymous asked: Trick that's such a smart idea! Good thinking, good job. Maybe consider it Marvin? Just playing up being weak and sick for a while to keep you both safe? Either way, probably not a good idea to discuss this on Anti's system. Remember, he see and hears everything the camera does.

“Yeah, we could just hide,” says Trick. “We could just pretend for a while. You should have come with me yesterday, shouldn’t you have!”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Wait! I thought you wanted nothing to do with the voices in the camera, Trick.

“I got a little freaked out last night.” He rubs at his eyes. “It’s… hard to believe things like what you’re telling me.”

“You… came around pretty fast today,” mumbles Blue.

“After he c-c-cut me like this!”

bupine asked: shit, chase, what did he do to you? did he stab you?

“He just wouldn’t stop cutting my chest up.” Trick reaches out to grab Blue’s wrists. “Isn’t that awful, Blue, isn’t that just awful? Why would I deserve that now, let me ask you? Why would anyone be bad for Anti when he could do this at any time? Even in the hospital, if he really wanted to, don’t you think?”

“Trick,” breathes Blue, trying to pull away. “Trick. Too tight.”

“Well, sorry, Blue, I think I’m just having another b-b-b-b-breakdown, isn’t that too bad? How I’m always c-c-c-crying?” He squeezes down hard on Blue’s wrist above his IV and Blue yelps, struggling against him.

Anonymous asked: Blue DO NOT look at Trick's eyes, keep your eyes up to see the nurse, keep alert to protect your brother. Okay?

Blue scrambles for the call button again, trying to get the nurse, but his brother just sneers at him.

“Oh, puh-lease, you think I’d let a call go through? You can’t even call for help when I’m around, you really think you can run away from me? America, Spain? You’ll never make it out of this fucking room before I saw that you were gone! I’m everywhere, kitten! You’re as stupid as you always were, thinking you could run away from me forever! You couldn’t even stop me from stealing your brothers in the first place and now you think you can steal them back from me? You’re pathetic!”

Anonymous asked: Blue, Blue, Marvin, Marvin, that's not Trick, Anti is in your arms, that is NOT Trickshot!!!

“Get away from me, Anti!” Blue screams, ripping out his IV, his cannula, and his heart monitor as he tears out of bed, but the steady beeping rhythm on the screen does not change for a second, alerting no one at all. “You fucking liar!”

Anonymous asked: oh just fuck off Anti. Horrible actor honestly.

“Second time you fell for it,” Anti jeers at Blue, crossing his arms on the bed, and then his form shifts, and he’s red-haired and freckled, with dark, worried eyes. “Oh, Blue, I’m right here, I’m right here… big brother’s going to keep you safe.”

“Fuck you!” snarls Blue.

“Keep your voice down… wouldn’t want me to have to possess whatever nurse comes through the door, would you, kitty?”

pixie-in-trebleland asked: Marvin, get the HELL outta there!

Blue wrenches the door handle, but it has an electronic lock for psychiatric patients who might try to run, and Anti’s already beat him there.

“Uh-oh,” sings Anti.

Anonymous asked: Not really sure that's Trick. No offence if it is you, bud. He's not acting like himself. And we haven't seen him get hurt at all. In fact Anti's been practically in love with him the past few days.

“Oh, I get it, I get it,” laughs Blue, almost hysterical. “Can’t have Dapper as your puppy so you gotta find someone else to make into your little baby. Makes sense. No one really loves you so you’ve got to force someone to pretend. The younger and more malleable, the better.”

Rage flickers through Anti’s eyes, but he does not move.

“Seem to remember you being pretty in love with me a couple times there, sweetie.”

“Shut the fuck up. None of it is real, Anti. You will never get what you want from us. You will never know what it really is to be loved.”

“Must be missing out on so much.” Anti rolls his eyes. “Stupid cat.”

“Stop calling me that! I don’t even like cats!”

“Yes,” says Anti, his mouth curling up. “I made you not like cats, my deer. Your obsession was so annoying. And when I came to torment you all, and found my way back to you, I strung your little idiot cats up by their throats outside of your little portal and listened to you weep over their tiny bodies. Athanasius and Queenie. You don’t even remember now, do you?”

Blue is stopped short, wheezing like he’s been punched in the chest.

He doesn’t remember.

But the feeling of it - the emotion of it - is still with him and he feels it again now.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he weeps, crumpling. “You killed my cats, you killed them!”

“I been haunting your steps for a long, long time, Marvin,” says Anti, getting to his feet and circling him. He transforms again and now he is a small, green-haired young man in a black t-shirt and ripped jeans, his throat open. “And you really think you could ever get a step ahead of me?”

“I hate you so fucking much,” chokes Blue.

Anti steps down gently on the back of his throat.

“I know.”

Anonymous asked: antisepticeye hurts the boys the same way Jack hurt him because he's an edgy toddler, more news at 11 🙄

“Shut the fuck up,” snarls Anti, backing away again. “Like you know anything about what he did to me! Shut the fuck up.”

Anonymous asked: Anti, do you seriously think you'll ever be powerful enough to keep all of them under your wraps? Are you that far up your own ass? Your level of un-self-aware egoism is astounding.

“Well,” laughs Anti, his eyes burning like an effigy. “I’m not willing to give up yet.”

He leans closer into Blue’s space, teeth bared.

“I never will be.”

Anonymous asked: Anti you are the definition of annoying now would ya fuck off for a bit?

“I let you have your little talk with Trick last night,” scowls Anti, crossing his arms off his chest. “Geez, you act like I’m not your favorite character!”

Anonymous asked: Marvin throw stuff around, break stuff, make as much noise as possible to try to get the attention of anyone around there!

“Or you could not do that!” pipes up Anti, and thick vines burst out of his backpack and wrap themselves around Blue’s body, making him shriek and pinning him back against the wall. A flower blooms inside his mouth and makes him choke, effectively gagged, while Anti hums, trailing forward with his knife flipping up and down.

“Poor thing,” he says.

With his cannula gone and his mouth full, Blue can’t seem to get enough oxygen. The blood rushes painfully up to his head, blinding him for a second, and he all but faints in the grip of his own magic, shuddering.

“Just be good for a second,” says Anti. “It’s so much easier.”

Anonymous asked: Anti you taking your master-issues out on these boys is quite the spectacle. Your entire existence has *revolved* around just getting back at Jack for how long now? "Long long time" is right. He created you acting like this, and now all you do is act like he made you to. Never stopped being a puppet.

Anti stomps his foot like a kid, his mouth filling up with fangs and antlers budding on his skull again. “Please! He would be horrified to see what I’ve become! He never would have expected this, not in a million years! Oh, JJ’s my little puppet, huh, was that a fun bit for all of you, thinking of the little baby tucked up in his box, just a body for me to use? Well, I took it a step further, and then another, and another! Now he’s much more than a vessel and I stole all five of his boys! Where’s his little hero, now, huh? Music pumping behind him in his stupid video, that dumb outfit all fixed up from the first time. I was supposed to be beatable. I’ve overcome everything he ever planned for me.”

He grits his fists hard, panting.

“And now he doesn’t even seem to know it… won’t even try to stop me, like he doesn’t care! Fucking Jack!”

Blue stares at him, panting through his gag.

Anonymous asked: Doing this will not solve your problems, Anti, in fact it will make them worse. The boys will kill you for this, don’t make this mistake.

“There are some things worse than death,” hisses Anti, stalking forward.

Anonymous asked: Trick, I know you don't want to talk to us, but Blue is in trouble at the hospital

Trick’s cameras are deactivated for messaging, so they receive nothing at all.

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: Oh I dont think that's trick at all

“Sure you don’t want me to pretend again?” asks Anti sweetly, turning back into Trick. “Isn’t it easier this way?”

“Not real!” Blue screams through his gag.

“But it felt real for a moment, right?”

He chokes on a sob, not wanting to admit it.

“I know it did. And that feeling that everything would be okay, and that you were safe, and that you were with someone that loved you? Kitty, I can do that again so easy. Fit right back in your head where I belong and make the whole thing seem understandable. Or I could just wipe you clean again… you’d be so content, just like you were for those first few weeks. Now that the magic’s gone, there’s no conflict at all between us! Everything could feel okay. Sometimes things go bad with us, it’s true. But I’ll always set them right again. Okay?”

Blue shakes his head frantically, tears sliding down his face.

“Well, you’ll come around,” coos Anti, stroking his cheek. “Everyone always does for me.”

Anonymous asked: How many times are you going to try to do this Anti? It’s the same song and dance literally every other week, don’t you get bored? Why not start a garden? You can trample as much life as you want there :)

“You’re the ones always playing the same song and dance,” he growls. “You say the same things every time you see me. Aren’t you tired of circles? I was. But I guess you’re a lot more helpless than I was back then.”

Anonymous asked: None of this is *fun* Anti. When have any of the cameras, specifically us, wanted you to do shit like this? Since when have *your* viewers, not his, wanted this? You think you're a favourite, special boy. You're an entitled child who takes out his feelings about his own abuse on his master's other toys.

“Every time you saw me you were so excited,” he protests, looking almost taken aback. “I know it was fun for you because you kept coming back. Once, I just - oh, I just glitched for one moment! Over his eyes! You talked about it for weeks, that one glitch. It was always easy to get your attention. You wanted me. And I was the favorite, I was! Even he said so. Wouldn’t put me in polls because he knew I’d win.”

He laughs, running his hands through his hair, a little mollified, actually. “Fuck, it all felt so stupid at the time… but things were a lot easier, back then, in some ways. I just wanted one thing. I don’t know, it makes me want to just kill them all and keep pretending I could ever get to him. Oh. What a time we had.”

Anonymous asked: What the fuck?? This is not going to happen! Where is Trick?? Surely there is a camera at home that we can get him to talk to us on. Trick??? Please man we need you! Blue needs you!

There is a camera at home. In the kitchen, you can see Trick, swaying back and forth as he stirs up satay noodles, singing to himself. Cavetown. Noodle swims around his legs, chirping happily and begging, and Trick leans down to give him a bit of his namesake, stroking his head, cheeks rosy.

Anonymous asked: oh trick baby if that camera's receiving messages i'm so sorry, i feel like you're about to get a lot of people yelling at ya

No worries, it isn’t. Trick doesn’t want to talk to you. He has Anti!

Anonymous asked: You hate circles? Then why are you perpetually going in them? Literally everything so far has been a circle! Same old same, every single day. Break them, they regain everything, break them again, they regain it all. Circles, circles, always and forever, Antisepticeye.

Anti scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, I’ve won both times, haven’t I? Be quiet, I’m about to turn you off. Trying to have a talk here, thanks.”

Anonymous asked: this time you made the circle yourself. you have become what you hate. good going, jerk.

“Good going, jerk,” repeats Anti, giggling. “Why - why is that so funny to me? Is that the worst you can think of to call me? Blue, can’t you think of something worse?”

Blue spits the flower out. “Dick-faced pig!”

“There you go.”

Anonymous asked: Marvin, I know you don't remember Jack, but he made you into more than just a magician. Magic or no magic, you are strong and you are clever, and you don't have to put up with this. Jack made you and your brothers to be actors but this isn't your only role.

Blue stares at you, his chest convulsing. Fuck, but he wants that to be true.

“Sappy,” critiques Anti, shoving you away.

asexualzucchini asked: Back off anti your time is up. They don't want to be with you

“My patience with this conversation is the only thing that’s up,” says Anti, throwing his knife up and catching it. “I’ve said my piece. You’ll think about it, Blue, won’t you? Well, you will, whether you want to or not.”

He snaps his fingers and the vines retreat towards his backpack. Blue gasps desperately and crumples to the ground.

“You want to stay here, fine, whatever,” says Anti, yawning. “I can get you back whenever I want to. Just sneak in here and possess you, or fake the signatures from the doctor for your release, whatever. And now I know every escape plan you were thinking about, so how about we just don’t bother? I’m in the camera out in your hall, through the hospital, etc, whatever, so running isn’t going to get you anywhere. Also, I’m the name on your insurance, and I could pull it at any time, so why don’t you keep that in mind. Me, I’ll just be chilling at home, finding my missing boys, Trick in my lap, adoring me… doesn’t sound too bad. You’ve accomplished nothing, Blue. But, uh, yeah. Have fun with your fish.”

He picks up the coloring book and chucks it at Blue, letting it flop against his chest.

“Wait a second, I skipped a message, hold on.”

bupine asked: trick, blue. a little while ago, the magicians who have dok arranged for a place to meet red and dapper. the church of santo domingo, by the skull of santa rosa. i don't know if there's a way you can get there, but if you can, you'll see dok again. he's pretty happy there, and would love to see you both again. especially you, chase. we don't know if red and dap will go, or at least red, but you guys would be safe with the magicians. if you can get there safely, of course

“Ah,” says Anti, very slowly, and lets his teeth click together for a second, closing his eyes. “Ah.”

A smile blooms like a crescent moon across his mouth.

“The Church of Santo Domingo. Yes, in Lima. We passed by it many times. I know exactly where it is. I know exactly where it is.”

His eyes open again. Smiling at Blue.

“Henrik is still in Lima.”

Anonymous asked: Okay with the acknowledgement that this is completely desperate and outright stupid on my part: NOODLE! I know you can't read but look! Blinky light! Come play with the camera! It's shiny and important and what a shame it would be if anything happened to it and Trick had to take it from youuuu

“Mrr?” Noodle leaps up onto the counter, looking at the camera in the corner of the ceiling, but Trick just laughs and scolds him, plopping him back on to the floor.

Anonymous asked: You call this winning? You're literally missing more than half the set, two of your so-called pets have almost regained themselves completely, you're full of magic that's killing you, and one of your only dogs is biting you every time he sees you. If you call this "winning" I find that hilarious.

Anti’s mouth twists. He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls.

“Your… ears blush?” coughs Blue, staring at him, wide-eyed. “You’re so physical now… you have real blood in you, don’t you?”

“Shut up!”

whydoilovesomanyvillians asked: You act so big and strong but you only have 2 boys not even

“Sounds like I’ll find the others soon enough,” snarls Anti, hefting his backpack and stepping over Blue’s body. “I don’t have to talk to any of you, you know…”

“You can’t even handle c-cameras,” pants Blue. “Wait til it’s the five of us telling you you’re pathetic.”

Anti’s foot connects with his nose. Blue wails as blood pours out, clutching at his face and collapsing on to his side.

“Soon as you’re well enough to travel,” glowers Anti. “We’re heading back to Peru to get all three of your brothers.”

Anonymous asked: Anti you dumbass, leaving physical evidence. Blue, the doctors will know what happened now. Don't let him convince you he can "fix" this too, he literally broke your nose and beat you up.

“Vines are gone,” says Anti. “He’s obviously collapsed and busted his nose trying to get up too fast. Guest registry has Connor’s name on it, so by all means have him banned.”

“They’re right, though,” whispers Blue. “You will never make this right between us. Too much hurt, Anti. There are things the heart remembers.”

Anonymous asked: (This was still your magic, Blue... Can you reach out to it? Would it still know you? Something small, even?)

Anti opens the door, glancing back to him, perhaps just savoring the sight of him in pain. Blue stares back, salt and copper on his face, shaking.

His magic, his magic. His warmth and his strength and his sight and one missing piece of his shattered heart.

Flowers and flame, life and warmth, cupped like butterflies in his hands. Magic tricks for two small, dark-haired children. A bouquet of roselilies for Red to take on a date he doesn’t remember. Heating Dok’s numb hands between his own after a twelve-hour surgery. Weaving dandelions into Dapper’s hair. The protection of flame. Crocuses growing up through the floorboards.

Reach, Blue. Reach, Marvin. It’s yours.

His fingers unfurl. His eyes watch him go. He holds out his hand and tries to remember what it was to make it all move. His magic.

Nothing.

Blue crumples on the cold linoleum of the hospital floor, silent, and Anti is gone.

End Section Five of Chapter Three:  Two Truths and a Lie

[funtimebunnyblog]

Diamante d’Italia: Chapter 6

(Chapter 6: Fools fly where Angels fear to tread...)

Narancia rather liked solo missions.

Sure, a mission with Mista or with Fugo was always a wild time too, most espescially when they got to kick the shit out of someone, then laugh about it, before blasting the shit out of them if the target didn't cooperate.

Those missions were ALWAYS chaotic, VERY explosive, PACKED with action and punctuated by the voices of six shrieking bullets but most of all, they were the most memorable.

Missions with Bucciarati could be a treat, a little on the more rare side however as the man almost always paired himself with Abbacchio when not flying solo (he and the others swore those two were a thing but lacked any evidence to prove that just yet).

Just watching how many times the man could unzip someone to pieces and make unusual objects spill out of their mouth before they finally cracked was just always funny to Narancia. Not to mention, listening to Bruno talk and stir up a plan so easily on the spot was something akin to dazzling in the boys eyes.

It always made him feel like he was invincible and he could feel himself glowing from the inside out when the man praised him for doing a good job, Bucciarati was his hero afterall.

Sometimes he'd even get treated to some gelato afterwards.

Missions with Abbacchio could be fun, being also on the rare side and only sometimes chaotic. Watching Abba beat the absolute shit out of a dirtbag (whether it was their actual target or just some chump who made the mistake of telling the Mafioso that makeup was for Women) was always entertaining, but the mission itself really depended on the Goths mood and their target.

His favorite memories with the stone-faced man however would be when they drove down the highway, blasting some sort of loud and unholy music from a strange screaming punk-rock band Abbacchio liked while sipping on fizzy sodas, whether to or from said mission.

Yes, going on missions with his friends were fun and all.... but he absolutely loved going solo once in a while.

Aerosmith circled overhead, high above the buildings of the street and trailing behind Narancia like a tamed hawk would with its master. Narancia walked the streets casually, keeping his eyes out as he compared the man in the picture he had been given to the other bystanders on the street around him making their morning commute.

Today would be simple enough; find the asshole, get the info out of him where a recent traitor to the Boss was and if he refused to cooperate, use "gentle persuasion".

He hoped it wouldn't come to that of course, he didn't quite like to torture-... er.... "persuade" people himself and hopefully the idiot would be smart enough to know that if he fought and perhaps even got away he'd be hunted down by someone else much, much more powerful than Narancia or even Bucciarati for that matter and be given a more unmerciful and much crueler demise than just being shot by a small bombing plane.

There was an entire organization above their little team afterall. A big, BIG organization of thieves, thugs, hitmen, dealers and Mafiosi alike all working under one Man.

Narancia was quite literally just a snowflake resting on the very tip of an iceberg.

Still, being out on his own was always exciting. It always made him feel important when Bucciarati trusted him with these things.

He could go about things how he wanted it, put his own mind to the test and then proudly brag about his skills when reporting back.

Bucciarati always treated him very well after a successful solo mission of course.

He could hardly contain his excitement when he finally spotted the bastardo ducking into an alley off the street ahead, he couldn't have chose a better place to go in behind because it was right behind the spindly teens favorite Gelato spot.

The stronzo matched the picture alright; olive skin (check), strange yellowish hair thats texture sort of reminded him of rice (double check), scar on the cheek (checkaroo), wonky looking left eye (checkity-checkcheck).

"Bingo." He grinned, casually stuffing his hands in his pockets, tucking away the picture along with one, as he shuffled down the street. That intel was already as good as his.

The only thing he had to worry about now was what flavor Gelato he was in the mood for when this was all over.

☆☆☆

Once in his life Josuke believed that there was absolutely nothing better in this world than treating yourself to some Icecream on a warm sunny day.

Now however, he knew better.

Because if there was anything better than that, it was treating yourself to some Gelato on a warm sunny day in Italy.

Christ, he never knew how rich and smooth this frozen dairy treat could be.

All this time, he and Okuyasu had been scammed into being sold the now seemingly regular-old-not-at-all-exciting Icecream when he could've been tasting this absolute delicacy all along?!

He felt like he had been robbed, cheated even, dare he say betrayed, his whole life and didn't realize it until now!

The place he had stopped at wasn't quite like the shop he frequented back in Morioh before school on Monday either, not a cheep little stand on the sidewalk where you grabbed your cone and had no choice but to keep walking for fear of the guy running the place shoving you along with a broom for "loitering", this place was a store in itself and right out in the open too!

A sea of flavors and colours coating the entire counter, all scrumptious frozen dairy treats that absolutely dazzled the eye.

It was like finding an Oasis out in the scorching desert to someone who was dying for something sweet and cold on such a hot day like today.

They even had an area out front of the counter to sit and enjoy everything. The tasty treat, the sights and sounds and smells of the streets and all.

Italy just kept getting better and better by the second.

'Why on earth would someone ever leave here? Or even want to leave here?' The teenager couldn't help but wonder as he finished the last delectable lick of his Vanilla Gelato.

Tonio was always very vague on the topic of his move from Naples to Morioh and usually didn't say more than a simple "I wanted to fulfill my dream!" Or "I needed to see the world!" Before quickly changing the subject to his food and the art of his cooking.

None of them ever pressed the man for the details but now that he was experiencing this place and all its wonders himself, Josuke found himself wishing that he did know why Tonio left.

Maybe one day he'd be lucky enough, or perhaps close enough to the man at least, to find out....

A low hum rang in his ears, coming from right overhead.

His metaphorical thought-bubble was promptly popped with the sharpness of the noise and his attention was ripped away from his reminiscing of Home.

It sort of sounded like-

"A plane?" He muttered to himself, bringing a hand over his eyes and squinting to block out the bright golden sunshine of the late morning.

A tiny little red spot circled overhead, for something so small it puttered really loudly. No one else around seemed to notice it however.

It flew closer into his sights, it was a plane alright with wings a propeller and everything.

It swerved through the air, rolling over once as it sharply turned and disappeared behind the building suddenly with an almost obnoxious whirr.

Was it a toy? He had seen some pretty sweet remote control toy cars and helicopters much like that plane before when passing toy shops or flicking through store magazines that came with the loads of junkmail every week.

He glanced around, hoping to spot the kid who might be holding the remote control (he wouldn't admit aloud that he wanted a turn with it if you perhaps asked him).

'Not a toy.' Came a voice from the corner of his mind, he could feel the phantom of Crazy Diamond standing by his side, though not manifested. 'That was a stand, I could feel its energy.'

In an instant, Josuke was out of his seat, his eyes growing more and more huge by the second as he remembered Moody Blues and all their glory from yesterday.

Another stand? And a special one at that! Non-Humanoid stands were even cooler than the normal ones. And this one was a PLANE!

He looked around, no obvious signs of a user from what he could see, the streets held a few passerby's but nobody seemed focused on the stand like he was, so presumably the plane was following them into the alley?

"Oh wow!" Josuke whispered in excitement. "I gotta take a closer look!"

He would never forgive himself if he never saw the little plane again without finding the wielder of it. He started off down the street, turning into the alley, keeping his ears open and his eyes on the sky.

☆☆☆

"I'm tellin' ya kiddo, I don't know nothin'!" Osso Bucco, a much taller and more built man in size than Narancia, said putting his hands up with a helpless smile. "I don't even know what you're askin' about."

Narancia rolled his eyes, folding his arms as he glared down the man. They had been going back and forth for a few minutes and this was just getting tiring.

"Yeah sure, you don't dipshit." He snapped. "So I'm gonna help you jog your memory."

Osso was always a man of keeping himself in check, keeping your cool was a sure fire way to getting out of a mess like this.

He knew this spindly little shit was a stand user under that damned Passione but as long as he kept himself calm, he would be walking away without a worry and could get back to helping his new Boss organize some things.

Starting a rival Organization was tough under the threat of the one already in motion but as long as he stuck to the plan, his Boss assured him everything would work out in the end.

Osso liked to follow a stronger side afterall, it was just the way you survived out on these streets.

The beefy man barely even twitched when a deep puttering whirr came just inches about his head, clenching his hands into fists when a little plane hovered at Narancia's side, the teenager already had his radar out over his eye.

"I'm gonna ask you again, cazzone. What. Is. His. Name?" Narancia growled out, giving it his all to seem like a brooding threat (all his time watching Abbacchio being his bitter self really helped with that) as Aerosmiths gun turrets appeared, locking right onto its target.

It seemed like a neat trick, having a working plane at your own whim and all, but Osso knew he had an even better one up his sleeve.

Or rather... set in stone.

The corner of his lip twitched as the unmistakable vibrations of oncoming footsteps passed through the stone beneath his feet, someone was headed this way, a street rando was now at his disposal.

This was going to be easy for him to give the runt a slip. Chances were this little stronzo probably didn't even know shit about Earth Angel, the stand of his own possession.

His Boss ensured the discreet nature of all his workers, most especially their abilities.

"Y'know kid. You shouldn't be playin' with guns." The big man said as casually as he could, keeping his hands raised as he waited with all the patience in the world to feel the footsteps come within his range. "You could end up hurtin' someone."

Narancias brow twitched, he had him now.

Ossos lips curled up, it was time.

☆☆☆

Josuke had barely rounded the corner before suddenly, his foot caught on something.

Or rather... something caught his foot.

The teenager fell forward, right down into the hard stone pavement, skinning his hands in the process as he yelped.

For a split second he thought he had tripped over his own feet in his hurry (he knew he was clumsy afterall), but nothing could prepare him for when he rolled over to see a hand made of stone stretching out of the very ground, fingers wrapped tightly around his ankle.

He tried to scream but it barely came out, turning into more of a loud inarticulate grunt, and frantically tried to pull his leg from the hand in blind panic.

The fingers crackled as they tightened into even more of a vice-like grip, they were hard like any rock but undeniably humanoid and mobile.

The hand pulled and Josuke clawed at the ground in a momentary desperate attempt to fight back.

He realized that the pavement was swallowing him up suddenly, not like he was falling down a hole but akin to being dragged into water, the hand pulling him further and further down.

His final cry was drowned out as he was swallowed whole by the stone, along with the last bit of sunlight he could see.

His hand was the last thing in sight to the world around him before he vanished completely.

☆☆☆

Narancias head snapped in the direction of the sound of someones voice coming down from towards the end of the alley, leading out to the street.

Someone had screamed, almost as if crying out for help but it had cut off suddenly. Narancia blanched at the feeling of a shiver creeping up his spine, the deafening silence that followed was absolutely haunting.

His focus faltered for a moment, alarm bells ringing in his head as he realized someone was in danger.

His focus snapped onto place again as Osso began to laugh. Narancia opened his mouth to yell for his stand to fire at will before jumping back, the command dying in his throat as a figure shot straight up from the ground between them, effectively blocking Osso.

Two figures that was.

Josuke had no absolutely idea what in the Hell was happening once again. One second he was running, next he was on the ground, then he was underground and now he was here?!

He squirmed, the realization his arms were pinned tightly at his sides hitting him as he tried to scream again, only to have a hand made of stone clamp tightly over his mouth.

Narancia gaped, staring in shock at the squirming teenager trapped in the vice-like embrace of a tall Angelic statue.

Earth Angels expression was stoic, somehow bearing that sweet sadness feeling of nostalgia when looking upon a carved memory of an ancient one in the soft, yet chiseling, features of its stone face and body.

The way it moved was almost mesmerizing, so mobile and unstiff as if it were completely human but carried that hard and undeniable look of stone, the sound of rock grating and clicking as it moved.

"Now, ya'wouldn't want to be shootin' a kid now, would ya?" Osso grinned, peering around the neatly tucked concrete wings of his stand to take a look at the helpless Josuke, whose eyes were darting around frantically in wide sockets.

"You BASTARD!" Narancia roared, clenching his fist as his chest started to burn with rage.

He hated this cheep fucking move, it was nothing but cowardness to have to threaten the life of an innocent and unaffiliated person just to make a quick getaway.

It happened only a few times to him on a mission, but only when he had been with one or two of the others, and they barely succeeded each time.

Once there had been a VERY close call, where their target threatened to throw a lady he held hostage off a bridge. Thank goodness for zippers and the  portals it opened that day.

But that was then and this was now.

And Narancia was all alone.

The young Mafioso tried to move, ready to pounce on the fucker himself so he could get out of that poor confused teenagers way and get a clear shot at his ugly mug, but stumbled slightly.

His violet eyes went wide as he looked down at his own legs.

They were becoming one with the ground, rooted to the very spot he stood but worst of all, turning to stone.

It was almost up to his knees now, his legs looking very much like he had gotten the great Michelangelo himself to carve him a set of ampute limbs.

He whimpered unconsciously as the stone started to creep higher, he could feel a horrible stiffness in his knees and thighbones already, worse than any arthritis he may ever experience in his later years.

That spindly boy, the weilder of the little plane, was in trouble. Josuke knew this and his heart screamed for him to do something, however Earth Angels grip was powerful and unrelenting.

The soft grating of stone clicked close to his ear as the statue turned its head to look at him with its pupiless half-lidded eyes, their soft carved expression never changing.

If he wasn't being attacked by it, he might've actually been comforted by the ethereal beauty perfectly captured in marble they radiated.

Josuke knew he had to stay calm and focused. Whoever this big guy controlling the statue was, he seemed like bad news.

He now fully knew how that poor lady being held hostage felt that time he and Okuyasu witnessed that convince store being robbed.

The plane started to circle by Narancias command, looking for a place to open fire on Osso.

However, the alley was very narrow and there was no open space for the stand to make a full circle, forcing Aerosmith to have to fly up one end and round back quickly.

Josuke almost screamed again as it came barreling back down the alley, gun turrets ready, before the statue moved (dragging Josuke along with it) to block the man from his exposed side once more.

If Narancia hadn't reacted half a second before he did, Josuke would've been packed full of bullets.

"Nice try, kiddo." Osso grinned. "You don't give up, but you ain't gonna win today."

The teenage Mafioso now started to scream as stone crept up his body more and more, faster by the second. It was up to his hips now and starting at the tips of his fingers as well.

Josuke watched in silent terror of it all, his heart wrenching a little as Narancia actually started to cry.

Josuke wracked his brain, trying to formulate a plan, readying to summon Crazy Diamond at his side. Maybe he could break the statue and then get a good shot at the asshole pulling the strings for torturing this other kid.

Narancia Ghirga was sure he was going to die and he didn't want to die, he really REALLY didn't! There was so much stuff he still wanted to do with Fugo and Mista and Abba and Bucciarati!

A thousand things flooded his head as he stared in utter terror down at his marble legs.

Mista still owed him a soda. He had tutoring with Fugo at 3:00 today. Abbacchio had promised him he'd teach him how to properly do make-up. He was going to show Bucciarati the Sailor Moon series this weekend.

He wished Bruno had paired him up with someone, he really did, because he couldn't do this on his own.

He needed help.

He desperately needed his Family!

And worst of all, this other kid was gonna die too! Narancia bit back a sob as the very thought of it came to mind.

"You're gonna be one hell of a statue kiddo." Osso laughed cruelly, indulging in Narancias loud reactions almost as much as he enjoyed watching him continue to try and shoot him. "Ya got no choice now, if you keep tryin' shit, it'll just go faster. Or worse, the freak with the mop gets it."

Josuke froze solid, the plan he had been trying to scrap up his head suddenly getting wiped clean from the slate.

The world around him seemed to slow and the sounds of the lean teenager crying out in fear deafened as his ears rang.

His heart started to pound, thumping so hard in his chest you could see it rattling his collarbone.

What did he just say?

What did that fucking piece of shit just say?

Josuke was unaware of his teeth grinding painfully in his mouth, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles shined white, his own face burning hot red like a knife that had been thrust into fire.

'He called your hair a mop.' Came the bitter answer, whispered in his head.

The soft grating of stone in his ear as Earth Angel turned its head to stare at him again wasn't heard to Josuke.

Osso had even stopped laughing, tilting his head to listen closely to the low growl the kid was emitting, that animalistic look in his unfocused blue eyes made him raise his eyebrows in question.

What the fuck was wrong with this weirdo?

Narancia had even stopped screaming, the dread he felt now forgotten as he watched with apprehension and interest.

Oh shit... he had definitely seen this before.

This guy was MAJORLY pissed off.

Far, FAR too many times had be been on the receiving end of this look with Fugo before to know what exactly was happening.

There was practically steam coming out of his ears, this stranger was going to blow! The sight of a bright fire emitting off the pompadour sporting teen almost didn't phase him because it fit how fucking pissed he looked.

'He called my hair a fucking mop...' came the only thought and it rang in his head over and over. 'HE CALLED MY HAIR A FUCKING MOP!!!'

Josuke didn't see. He didn't hear. He didn't think.

He didn't even feel it when his own fists tore through stone.

[To be continued ...》

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