#I practiced with Bluebelle first so I could make my mistakes first

[murdleandmarot]

Bluebelle and her music box :)

#everyone clap for her right now #this was actually my first watercolor #I practiced with Bluebelle first so I could make my mistakes first #before messing up any of y’all’s OCs #in summary she was my guinea pig #love you Bluebelle 💙💙 #the arms are a little. off. but that’s okay <33 #emi if you see this thank you for the idea with the shoes they’re really pretty I love them so much :)) #sigh…. #I have so much lore about that goddamn music box and for why #I don’t even have it written down 😭 #now that I’m on top of my water coloring game #I’ll prolly do one with her and Vicci #once I’ve worked through all of my…other ideas *evil laugh* #cats the musical #cats musical #cats oc #sorah’s silly scribbles

[whitexwingedxdoves]

Foxtails and Rabbit trails | Part 2

A/N: This is part 2 to my collab with @starlessea​ i’ve had such a fun time working on this with Yaz and I hope you all love it as much as we do   🐰 Read Part One Here  Summary:  Daryl Dixon was a good hunter, but there were still some things that he struggled to find. Such as the patience to deal with you. You wore a rabbit’s foot keyring, but Daryl thought you were the furthest thing from lucky. After all, you ended up stuck with him, too.

-  Lying back on the grass, staring up at the cloudless sky, you thought that the world had never looked so pretty. 

The foxtails tickled your cheeks, and you could feel the fresh dew on the leaves as they gathered up beneath your fingers. You tried to focus on their texture, and how you could hear them crunch brittley before they scattered to the ground like autumn confetti.  

You really did try to focus on the good.

But the pain was blinding. 

“Hol’ still, ‘m gonna get ya outta there,” Daryl whispered, but you picked up on the way his voice stuttered over the words.

He got to work on disabling the trap, every little movement translating into a jolt of searing pain which made you cry out for him to stop. Though, the look in his eyes was no better. Even through your tears, you could understand that this was hurting him just as much as it hurt you - maybe even more.

If only you hadn’t been so fucking careless.

You reached out your hand for your satchel, fumbling in the grass until your fingertips brushed up against the soft fur of your rabbit’s foot. It was supposed to be lucky.

What a joke, you laughed, and grit your teeth through the pain.

Daryl disarmed the trap, making you whimper hoarsely once more as the metal jaws dislodged from your ankle. Your knuckles had turned white over that rabbit’s foot - almost matching its snowy pelt.

The man retrieved the rag from his back pocket - that same one you’d joked about not so long ago - and used it to bind your leg to stop the bleeding. 

Maybe that ratty cloth was handy, after all.

You tried to look down to catch a glimpse of the injury, and assess the damage. Except, Daryl didn’t let you.

“Eyes on me,” he instructed, gesturing to himself with his free hand.

You nodded, before letting your head fall back onto the damp grass. You glanced off to the side, noticing the mounds of dirt that crumbled near you.

“Hey, Daryl,” you murmured, “look at all of the burrows.”

The man didn’t look up from what he was doing - tending to you - but he still nodded his head anyway.

“Yeah,” he replied, tightening the makeshift bandage, “see if ya can spot any rabbits.”

And with that, Daryl carried you back to Alexandria - quickly and carefully, looking down at his feet the entire time.

Once you reached the infirmary, the man placed you on one of the beds whilst Denise got to work. She tried her hardest to be gentle with you, but even the softest touch made your skin crawl. Painkillers were given - only dulling the sensation ever so slightly - but they seemed to be enough for the doctor to stitch up your wounds, and replace Daryl’s old red rag with a clean bandage.

“I thought you hunters were supposed to be mindful of your surroundings,” Denise quipped, sending one of her sneaky looks your way as she finished her work. 

You rolled her eyes and shuffled ever so slightly in the bed, trying to get a glimpse.

“Yeah well, it was pretty well hidden,” you hit back. 

Daryl cleared his throat from the corner of the room; he’d been so quiet that you almost forgot he was there.

“Nah, ya got too distracted by the damn rabbits,” he grumbled.

More like too distracted by damn Daryl Dixon.

A glare was exchanged between you and the archer, but your smile got wider the longer you stared.

“Either way, it got you pretty good. You need to stay off that leg.” 

With a stern tone, Denise broke your gaze.

You shook your head. “That doesn’t work for me,” you argued, “I’ve got people to feed!” 

In response, you tried to shuffle off the bed - but a searing pain clambered up your leg and stunted your movements.

“I’m sure Daryl wouldn’t mind taking over for a while. Just until you’re better,” Denise reassured you.

The young doctor peered over her glasses at the archer, only for him to reply with a grunt.

“Now rest,” she told you, pressing your shoulder back down into the mattress. “Doctor’s orders!” 

That first night at the clinic had been quiet - far too quiet. It made you mull over your mistake until it was old in your mind, and heavy on your conscience. 

That is, until Daryl returned to bring you dandelions.

Denise had insisted that you stay where she could keep an eye on you, until the morning at least. But, you missed the comforts of your own room - where it was familiar. The walls of the infirmary were too white and barren, as opposed to your house which was decorated with pressed flowers and furs and much too many books. 

Your foot twitched occasionally, and every time you closed your eyes you could hear the snapping of those metal jaws as they clamped shut.

Sleep would probably elude you tonight.

Your nerves were made even worse when you were startled by knuckles rapping on the window. Reaching for the lamp, you illuminated the figure behind the glass - who also seemed spooked at having been caught.

Daryl stood there, motioning for you to open the latch on the window. 

You did, and the man lifted the pane, letting in the cool night’s breeze. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” you whispered, peering around the infirmary.

Daryl scowled, and muttered something below his breath that you couldn’t quite make out. The lampshade cast long shadows on his face, and you could only see the whites of his eyes poking out from between the strands of hair hanging over them.

“I ain’t,” he rasped back, gesturing to where he stood. “Technically.”

You raised an eyebrow at the man, not expecting that dry humour to come from him. He shook you off, and continued.

“Not stoppin’ long,” he dismissed, lifting up his backpack and fumbling around in it. “Went back out there an’ couldn’t see no more traps.” 

He smirked - faint and dim in the artificial light. But you still caught it.

“Ya must’ve sprung the only fuckin’ one.”

You laughed a little too loudly.

“Just my luck,” you shot back.

Daryl pulled something out from his bag - something you immediately recognised. It was a pelt blanket of soft, tawny fur. You’d made it yourself.

“Olivia tol’ me to give ya this,” he explained, feeding the material through the open window until you could reach it. “She went to get it from yer room.”

The feeling between your fingers instantly brought you comfort, and you ran the blanket along your cheek absentmindedly. 

Before you could reply, Daryl fished something else out from the rucksack and placed it on the windowsill. 

It was a glass bottle of dandelions.

It was a soda bottle, to be exact - probably snuck out of the pantry when no one was looking. You also recognised the flowers; you’d seen them out hunting once and noted just how much you liked the colour.

They looked like sunshine.

“Those from Olivia, too?” you whispered, gently stroking over the petals with your fingertips.

Daryl zipped up his bag and shook his head.

“Nah,” he mumbled, gesturing for you to close the window behind him. “These are from me.”

That was when you realised that perhaps Daryl Dixon wasn’t such a hard ass after all.

Though, your favourite memory from back then had to be the time he brought you bluebells. You’d practically chewed his ear off on one of your earlier trips, telling him all about how pretty they were - but you never thought he was listening.

You’d been sitting in your front room, pressing the previous bunch of flowers between one of your bigger books, when Daryl entered your home that day. Denise still hadn’t given you the all clear to go back out and hunt, and your movements were still pretty limited.

Hence, the constant appearances by the other hunter.

At this point, it had just become a part of the routine. Daryl would visit the house, walk straight to the empty vase on your bedside, and fill it with a new set of flowers. 

Though, today was a little different. 

Usually, he’d drop off some of the meat he’d managed to catch, and then leave. But, today he took a seat on the sofa opposite yours and fumbled with a tangled up cord.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you giggled, sitting further back into your cushion.

“Been trying to fix ya stupid traps out there. Can’t get the knot right,” he mumbled, his patience wearing as thin as that rope in his hands. 

You couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh at his words. 

The irony tasted so sweet. 

Daryl shot you a look which instantly made you cover your mouth. “Come here, I’ll help you,” you managed to say, whilst beckoning him over.

He did as instructed, but not without grumbling.

You took the cord from his hands and effortlessly untangled it. Daryl muttered something under his breath - but instead of prying, you took the victory and proceeded with your demonstration.

“Loop the rope around your hand like this and tie it.” 

Before finishing the action, you handed it over to Daryl so that he could do it by himself. 

“Then you fold the loop over to make ears, just like a rabbit!” you announced proudly, leaning over the man to show him exactly how it should look.

He scoffed. “What is it with you and the damn rabbits?” 

You rolled your eyes at the archer, and nudged him in the side for not paying attention - to which he carried on following your directions. 

“Then you thread the rope through,” you instructed, your hand hovering over his as you watched for any mistakes.

You hadn’t realised how close you were to him until he had finished the knot. You pulled away, and cleared your throat before refocusing on the cord - not daring to dwell on the tension.

“Then you add this end to the spring and leave the other end hanging.”

Daryl nodded silently, inspecting your work like he was trying to recreate it in his mind.

“Thanks,” he eventually whispered, chewing at the corner of his lip.

It didn’t take the man long to spring to his feet and murmur a goodbye before leaving. 

Thinking back on it, you could only laugh at how naive you both had been. 

Those bluebells were the last flowers ever left in that glass vase, but they hadn’t been the last you’d seen during your time at Alexandria. To this day, you still had an old, leather-bound book tucked away somewhere on a shelf - containing all of those pressed flowers with their dried up petals and stems. But, they weren’t the most memorable.

No. The ones you could remember the best, despite not having them laid flat atop a page, were the foxtail lilies.

“You good?” the man asked, guiding you through the long grass.

You followed him slowly, weaving through the wildflowers - being careful not to trod on them. 

Your leg had mostly healed, but your confidence still hadn’t made a full recovery. It was your first time hunting since the accident, and you couldn’t help but keep your eyes locked on your feet the entire time - despite Daryl having reassured you that he’d checked the area three times over.

“Yeah, just feels weird,” you replied, rolling your ankle. “But it’s good to be out again, thanks for taking over for me.”

Despite being out of commission for a few weeks, the people of Alexandria definitely hadn’t starved - that’s for damn sure.

Daryl shook his head, and continued to step through the foxtail lilies. He was leading you back to that new area - to explore it properly this time.

“Nah, ain’t nothin’,” he shrugged, not even sparing you a backwards glance.

You followed his trail, where his boots had flattened the grass and made it easier for you to navigate.

You sighed. “Can’t just say ‘you’re welcome’, can you?”

Something sprung in the distance, and you immediately flinched. It took you a few seconds to figure it out - but you soon realised that you recognised that sound.

You turned to the other hunter, only to find that he was already looking at you.

“Daryl Dixon,” you breathed, a smile already wide on your face. “Did you set a twitch-up snare?”

The man shook his head, before pointing into the distance - at the dozens of burrows you hadn’t gotten the chance to show him that day.

“Not jus’ one,” he announced, as you glanced around the field, counting the traps.

No wonder Alexandria hadn’t gone hungry.

Another one sprung, and made you jump. You couldn’t help it, you slapped Daryl over the back and laughed too loudly - probably making the remaining rabbits scurry back into their burrows.

“Be still my beating heart!” you joked. “I knew you’d come around.”

The lilies tickled your legs as they blew in the breeze, and made you laugh even more. But for once, the man didn’t scold you for scaring away the game.

“Yer welcome,” he replied, and smirked straight back.

Daryl thought of that memory, as he and Judith made their way through the darkened forest, back to the house. 

You had definitely changed him since then - in more ways than how he set up his traps.

Daryl hung behind the young girl, watching her feet as she navigated the thick overgrowth, and stepped over tree roots - her fox tail charm swinging from her jeans. 

It had been his, once. He’d caught that red fox himself in the dead of winter, and kept the brush just like you’d told him to do. Though, Judith Grimes had taken a liking to it as a baby - always reaching for the soft fur with her small hands, and sneezing when Daryl used it to tickle her nose.

It was hers now; it had been since that day.

As if feeling his stare, Judith turned back and called out to Daryl for him to hurry up - unless he wanted dinner to be cold. He let out a grunt and picked up the pace.

He was too damn old for this.

The two of them returned to the cabin before the sun had set, but Daryl could already smell the scent of cooked meat from the pathway, a few minutes back. The lights were on inside, flickering warmly behind the glass windows - as though calling the both of them home.

Judith reached the door first, and rapped on the wood, tapping out their signature knock. As soon as it creaked open, the young girl burst through - nearly knocking you over as she trudged through the house with a wide smile and muddy boots.

 Then, you disappeared behind the frame after her - yelling something about how animals were meant to be on a plate, and not seated at the dinner table.

Daryl couldn’t help but laugh at that one; you always did have a good sense of humour.

But for that reason, the hunter made sure to wash his hands as soon as he stepped through the door - before even attempting to put them on you, and pull you in close.

But once he did, you beckoned him over.

Daryl felt the warmth of your skin as you pressed your forehead to his.

“‘M home,” he murmured, offering out the bunch of wildflowers he’d picked for you on the way back.

They were slightly crushed from his grip - the stalks bent and the petals flaking off - but you still smiled at him in such a way that it made his breath catch.

Yeah, he thought, you hadn’t changed one bit.

“My favourites,” you replied, and placed those foxtails in fresh water at the centre of the dinner table.

-

tags:  @browneyes528​ @phoenixblack89​ @srhxpci​ @jodiereedus22​ @witch-of-letters​ @deadthewalking​

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic

[soulmate-game]

I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

#mlb x dc #maribat #platonic daminette #bio!dad au #Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne #sibling Daminette #angst #heavy angst #hurt no comfort #or very little comfort anyway #ml x dc #platonic brucinette #twin AU

[liquid-luck-00]

Meeting for the First Time

Bio!Dad Bruce

So here is my first contribution to the Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020, 

Day 1: Meeting for the First Time

@biodad-bruce-month

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Okay granted noting seemed to ever go Marinette’s way. But this was the ultimate punch in the gut the universe could send her.

It started off as a normal Friday, 8 months since the liar came back to school. 8 months since she threatened to pull everyone, she cared about from her and leave her alone. Well 6 month ago Lila’s threat came true. Today she simply walked into class and ignore the cruel stares and watched as feet would pop out to trip her. Well she made it to her desk in one piece and that was a plus.

She was pulling out her tablet and then she heard and felt something slam onto her desk. It was a binder nearly exploding with paper’s and behind it was none other than Alya. “Hey Girl” she started trying to keep her voice friendly, but the repulsion was evident in her voice. “We were wondering if you could do us a favor” she gave Marinette a strained smile and when she didn’t answer continued “Can you help me plan Lila’s sweet 16 as a way to make up for bullying her.”

Marinette was beginning to become livid, her best friend, scratch that her EX- best friend, is asking her to plan a bully’s and a Liar’s party. No, oh Kwamii No she will not be doing that. She was about to say so when Miss Bustier walked in holding several envelopes.

“Please take a seat” Miss Bustier said and that was when Mari moved the binder as far from her as possible. “Today I have the results of the genetic testing we sent a while ago.” Everyone was beginning to murmur excitedly. Mari could only shrink into her seat. She was dreading this for multiple reasons. “Marinette would you please?”

Mari stood up and walked to her teacher took the envelopes and passed them out to the designated person. She kept hers and slipped it into her bag as soon as she got back to her seat.

She knew what it would say. She knew that it would not have what her ‘friends’ would think. It would only prove as Lila would claim that she was not actually wanted and that she was bullying her because she was loved, and Mari wasn’t. Luckily, no one noticed her as they were too excited with their own results. It wasn’t until the lunch bell rang that the dreaded moment came.

“So, Mari what were your results.” Adrien asked, once upon a time she would have gushed at him talking to her but now her crush was nothing but a pile of ashes in the wind.

“I don’t know” She replied as she picked up her bag and began to head out of the class.

“Wait you didn’t look at it” Adrien practically yelled and that got the class’s attention. He was giving her a frown and couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t even look.

“Why would you not look at your result Marinette?” Lila spoke in a sickly-sweet voice. “Are you ashamed that you have someone you want to hide from the class?” everyone began to murmur and was beginning to give her skeptical glares. As if she would attack them, almost no one noticed how Kim and Nino came around to block the door.

Mari was beginning to grow frustrated that they would not let her leave and that they continued to glare at her like a criminal. She had enough. “I WAS ADOPTED!!!” that made everyone go quiet and stared at her. “I was adopted when I was a couple of moths old and I have NO intention on knowing my biological family” she turned, and Nino and Kim were shocked that she simply slipped passed them and went home.

However, she knew who her biological father was. Well that isn’t the entire truth, she found out she was adopted when she was 10 years old. Her Biological father reached out stating he didn’t know until recently that he had a child. He wanted to get to know her and be a part of her life. However, Mari was stubborn, Tom and Sabine were her parents, so she told him she didn’t want to meet. Surprise though he was stubborn as well, he gave Mari his number and to call or message him even if it were to complain about him or anything at all. This had surprised her, and she did. She texted her father with things she didn’t feel she could tell her parents.

For the past 5 years she had told him about school, or mistakes she had made, and about her passion in fashion. He always seemed to listen and just let her rant. It was good for her. When she became ladybug, she was excited to tell him about the heroes of Paris. He sometimes never answered but she saw that he read them and that was comforting.

He became someone outside of Paris who helped anchor her. He would send her gifts for her birthday and messaged her when he could, and he really did help her though most of what was going on at school. She only knew him as Father, no name attached and that was fine. That was why she didn’t want to open the letter. She didn’t want a name to the person who cares for her as Marinette.

She went to the bakery and climbed the stairs knowing that it would be quiet. Her parents were taking a trip abroad for their anniversary along with her Nonna and that left her alone. “Tikki?” the little goddess floated up to her. “Should… should I… should I look at the names?” Mari wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to know but she also knew that she possibly would like to know.

“Mari the choice is yours but know that no one not even your father will think less of you if you never want to know.” Tikki really is always sure and can always make her feel better. Mari simply nodded went to get something to eat and stared at the letter she pulled out. As she finished her lunch and washed her plate, she turned to the letter with determination she opened it and read. Her Mother was blank, meaning that she probably hasn’t put her information on any site, but does say that she is of European decent. Then she looked at her father, he had a photo, black hair, and the same bluebell eyes. He was dressed in a suit and she looked at the name, Bruce Wayne. Next to her own photo was the photo of boy with tanned skin, black hair, and emerald green eyes, the name next to it was Damian Wayne. So, she had a brother, he looked close to her age, maybe he was the reason why her father contacted her years ago. Her father was also from European decent but that was about it. She’ll look into it more after school she dropped the envelope off in her room and left to go back.

She went back to class and sat in her seat before the bell rang so she was the first person back into the classroom. She kept her head down and didn’t look up from the sketch she was working on, she heard the whispers and caught a few glances at her, but she ignored them.

“Mari?” oh Kwamii why does he have to talk now again. She looked up and his expression softened into a small smile or more like a frown. “Do you…” he rubbed his neck. At this point everyone was staring between the two completely silent. “Do you want to talk about it?”

At this she scoffed “Why?” she was confused at this they wouldn’t talk to her unless it was to yell at her so why should she be vulnerable for them.

Alix spoke up “Why do you bother asking her anyways Adrien?” she snarked throwing Mari a glare. Adrien looked sheepish, and that was when Lila struck.

“Well if she puts it out in the open, she wouldn’t bully me, since we can help her. Make her feel loved since her parents didn’t want her” she spoke calmly and sweetly, and everyone nodded and agreed.

“Tell us Mari, you can trust us girl” Alya spoke from the class.

“Now why...” Mari was cut off as Miss Bustier entered to start the class. However, not even 10 minutes into the class the door opened. A man in a suit holding a folder came into the room.

“Miss Bustier” he asked, and the teacher nodded, so he continued. “I am sorry to disturb the class, but I need to speak with Miss Dupain-Cheng”

The teacher nodded and called “Marinette” gesturing towards the door. But of course, nothing was ever simple in this class.

“Sir if you need Marinette then you should also take Lila” Alya spoke up.

The man simply looked confused, “Why would I do that?”

“Marinette is bullying Lila so if you need Mari you need Lila as well” she huffed proud of her logic.

“I am sorry, but I really only need Miss Dupain-Cheng”

“Well whatever you need to say to her you can tell all of us”

Now the man looked exasperated and he turned towards the teacher. She nodded “It is for the best whatever you need to tell Marinette you can tell the class.” She stated.

He huffed and walked up the stairs to Marinette. “I am so very sorry for your loss Miss Dupain-Cheng. If you would please come with me, you are needed to verify the bodies.” This left the class in a quiet shock. They couldn’t believe what they just heard. Mari was wide eyed filled with tears ready to fall and was numb. She didn’t hear when everyone began to speak at once demanding answers of the man. And now Mari could tell he was mad. “Really I do not need to answer your questions as this matter only pertains to Miss Dupain-Cheng, this should have been done in private, so you” he pointed at Miss Bustier “will most likely be getting a call as soon as I will report this.” This shut up the class and he helped her up and walked her out.

Identifying the bodies was a blur in her mind, she was told they died as a riot stormed the airport on their way home. She was asked if she had anywhere to go “can you please give me a moment?” she spoke weakly and the woman who was in charge of her smiled and left her in the room. Thank the Kwamii that Hawkmoth had been inactive lately, so she was able to cry and mourn. She needed to tell someone anyone, but those she loved were gone and now what was she going to do. Tikki popped her head out of the bag and patted her leg. That was when she saw her phone, she picked it up and scrolled through her contacts. She got to the name Bio! Dad and pressed the call.

It rang a few times before he picked up. “Marinette is everything okay you don’t usually call?” she started to cry, and this put worry into his voice. “Mari sweetie what’s wrong. Deep breaths with me 1 in, hold 2, out 3. Again.” He repeated this until she was no longer gasping for breath.

“Maman, Papa, and Nonna died” she couldn’t keep strong anymore “please, please don’t leave me too.”

“I won’t Mari” his voice was the softest she had ever heard from him “I’ll be on the first plane over. I won’t leave you I promise” he hung up and she was finally starting to feel lighter. The woman from before came back.

“Are you okay sweetie?” she gave her a smile.

“I think I will be?” she gave a small smile.

“That call must have helped” Mari nodded in acceptance to the statement. “Who was it?”

“My Father, he is coming for me” the woman looked at her as if she grew another head. “My biological father. My maman, papa, and nonna that died were my adoptive family.” At that the woman gave her a sympathetic smile and a hug. “they were my family but…”

“Sweetie you don’t have to always be strong its okay to be sad.” She began to cry again. She was dropped off at the bakery by Officer Raincomprix, who gave her a sad smile and then left. Mari fell asleep in her parents’ room, Tikki curled up next to her.

She woke up the next morning and opened the Bakery, allowed in the staff, and went back to the apartment. Afterwards she went back up and curled up in her parents’ bed, but a notification on her phone made her stir again.

Bio!Dad: I’m in Paris where do you want me to meet you Mari?

Mari: The Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie

Bio!Dad: I’ll be there soon I promise.

Not long after a staff member knocked on the door, she recognized the voice. “Someone is here to see you”

“Mari can I come in?” she heard Bruce and that prompted her to open the door. She didn’t care that she looked like a mess, as soon as the door opened, she hugged him and started to cry for what felt like the hundredth time in the past 24 hrs. He murmured reassurances to her and led her to the couch.

---

If anyone had told him that he was going to rush onto a plane because of the daughter he has never met in person called him crying, he would not have given you any kind of reaction. But here he is on a jet headed to Paris to meet and comfort his daughter, after her parent’s death. Yikes that is a lot to handle.

The only positive to all this is that he left discreetly enough that he wasn’t tailed by the boys. And that was a relief, if Mari had to meet him for the first time that alone was one thing but meeting Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian would probably send the child over the edge. That is considering the fact that she actually deals with and processes emotions like a human and not like a bat.

He hadn’t even finished checking into his hotel and he was restless he knew that Mari needed him and if Bruce was anything, he was overprotective of his family. And right now, one of his family was hurt and he had to do something. He texted her and she told him to go to a bakery.

Well if she said to go to a Bakery then he went to a Bakery. He stepped in and looked around before going up to the counter.

“Excuse me Miss?” he stated towards a Girl no older than Twenty behind the counter placing pastries into the case.

“Hello, how can I assist you today?” she smiled.

“I am here to speak with Marinette.”

“Ah. Your first time here right.” He nodded his head. “That girl always forgets. Follow me” he was confused but followed the young woman through the kitchen and to a small hallway and up a flight of stairs. Where she knocked on a door. There was shuffling on the other side “Someone is here to see you” she plainly stated, and footsteps were heard near the door but just shy of opening it.

“Mari can I come in?” his question was tentative but even he was surprised by the softness of his voice.

The door swung open and there she stood. Oh, she was adorable. Her black hair was in a messy bun and had blue highlights that emphasized her bluebell eyes, which were red and puffy from her crying. She fell into him into a hug and she was so small, he had to protect her from everything. The worker left and he moved the two of them to the couch.

After a couple of hours, he got the full story and to say he was pissed was an understatement. First there was the teacher and how they had handled the situation was awful, but besides that he wanted Mari safe, but he had to know what she wanted instead of making the decisions for her. He learned the hard way with his boys.

Next

#bio! dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b ! dbwm2020 #maribat #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #bruce wayne #marinette dupain cheng #class salt #unsure adrien #bio!dad bruce wayne

[montmartre-parapluie]

Matilda, 1830s Mode: Mini-Gown Extravaganza Part 2

Hello again, folks! More Romantic era doll costumes here as promised! There weren’t quite as many as I remembered - I began to branch out into other time periods around this time as I found more patterns, but I got a lot of use out of the Pemberley Threads patterns. 

Let’s kick things off with an autumnal scene! (my taking SHAMELESS advantage of the American Girl Samantha Gazebo before my mother sold it on, basically) and strewing plastic pumpkins and fake autumn leaves everywhere. Also present, Felicity’s nightcap masquerading as an 1830s day bonnet. 

The brown cotton day dress was my first attempt at the ‘Molly’ pattern, and I made the sleeves a little too tight; it was a strain to get them over the wrists! Plus, the neckline was a little gappy from what I remember. I took a pattern from American Girl Addy’s knitted heartwarmer to make a little tie-around muslin fichu for Matilda to disguise my bad sewing (accessories, folks - don’t underestimjate their power!) and with the scraps left over from her blue nightgown managed to eke out a teeny little doll apron. Matilda looks ready to help with the harvest festival - and I was pretty relieved some of my early mistakes didn’t show...

The little collar here was actual experimentation, as opposed to ‘argh, I made mistakes! HIDE THE EVIDENCE!’

I’ve long really loved the look of the mini capes and pelerines the 1830s are famed for,  so I took inspiration from fashion plates like the one below and made a little matching cape in the same dress fabric to set it off. The fancy buckle is a cheap plastic ‘bridal’ buckle you can buy at any craft shop for floral arrangements/wedding decoration. They’re just the right size for a doll sash./// 

This final 1830s dress is the simplest - but it’s also the one I’m most proud of, because I’d practiced enough with the pattern so I could put it together really well. And I was incredibly lucky with the fabric - it was a fine shot blue/pink cotton by a patchwork/quilting designer called Kaffe Fassett, and it looks beautiful under light - it has this iridescent sheen that just makes it wonderful.

I didn’t bother with trims or lace for this one - I let the fabric speak for itself in its simplicity, and just added a violet sash to pick out the soft pink lurking in the weave. And Matilda photographed so well in it!

Even in a more subdued light, it’s still a wonderful bluebell colour with a hint of violet/purple in the depths....

#dollblr #agat doll #agat dolls #matilda #1830s fashion #caped dress #doll clothes #doll clothing #doll dressmaking #1830s dresses #romantic era #american girl furniture #modern historical dolls #historical dolls #historical fashion #mini-dressmaking #my sewing #m-p goes all crafty #a girl for all time dolls #a girl for all time

[nxrthmizu]

-Lordbug, Robin and Kitty Noir- Chapter Eleven: In Which Bruce Tries To Meet His Daughter-In-Law (But Fails)

---

/Part One//Part Ten/

Description: In which the fashion show finally takes place :D

Warnings: None

---

And I’m back with an update! :D Currently I’m in a small town in the middle of a mountains… Basically, the middle of nowhere in which you need to drive through three (If there isn’t traffic) hours of mountains to get to. But! I have Wi-Fi, so here I am, typing an update for you from the middle of nowhere :D

As always, this wasn’t proof-read, I didn’t have enough time, sorry :( so please contact me if any mistakes were found! :D Enjoy

—

Kitty dropped into her balcony seconds before her transformation dropped. She leaped off her bunk-bed-thingy into the middle of her bedroom, where the unfinished dress stood calmly. 

“Help yourself to the macarons.” Marinette told Plagg distractedly. “I need to finish the dress.” 

“Hey.” 

Marinette hummed, looking up to see Robin casually leaning against one of the pillars. She screeched, backtracking in surprise until her brain fully registered who it was. “Um, hey?” 

Robin blushed. “I know I shouldn’t be in your room unannounced but… I saw that you needed help.” He gestured to her dress. “And I thought if you needed a pair of extra hands, I could…?” 

Marinette bit her lip. “I suppose.” She smiled. “Alright, come here and I’ll run you through quickly.” She glanced at the clock, and quickly checked to make sure that Plagg was safely hidden in a little crevasse behind numerous fabrics and organisation shelves on her desk. “We have… Ten minutes until my friends get here. I need to have my dress done by then.” 

She quickly ran him through the process of sewing each pearl, and to no surprise, Robin was an attentive learner and was basically, the definition of delicate. His first pearl had been a little shaky, but the one after his first was near- If not- Perfect. He had even distributed the sparkles around the pearls proportionally- And that was something that took loads of practice. It had taken her weeks to perfect that skill, and he got the whole thing perfect after watching her just once. 

“There we go.” Marinette smiled, snapping off the thread as the last pearl went in securely. With the two of them working, fuelled by fiery determination- They’d finished the dress in no time. 

“I’ll be there.” He said, breaking the satisfying silence between the two of them. She looked up in surprise, the sheer happiness in her bluebell eyes making him blush excessively. “I’ll go there in my civilian identity, so you won’t see me- But I’ll be there.” He told her, smiling shyly. “Good luck.” 

Marinette coughed, her cheeks blossoming in scarlet, secretly really pleased that he had bothered to find out and to tell her. “Could I.. Get a good luck kiss?” 

He pulled her close, dipping her by the waist as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, the little squeal escaping her throat almost making him growl possessively.

“Good luck, angel.” Robin whispered, shooting his grappling hook out before leaping from the balcony. 

Marinette watched, dazed as he left, her fingers rising to touch where he’d kissed her. 

“Marinette! I’m ready to rock that runway!” Chloe announced her arrival, slipping out of the trapdoor, snapping Marinette out of her daze. 

“R-Right.” The bluenette stuttered. “Right. The runway.” 

—

That was by far, Damian’s second kiss, and he couldn’t have been anymore flustered. It did bother him- He wanted her to love his civilian identity, too, so maybe one day he’d tell her- But as of then… He touched his lips, still slightly tainted with Marinette’s chapstick, and blushed. 

“Alright.” He dropped into a back alley, where he had stashed his extra clothes- He had, actually, stashed a lot of of his clothes everywhere in case he ever needed a quick change from being Robin. “I have a fashion show to attend.” 

—

“Perfect.” Marinette breathed as Chloe twirled once with her white-blue-and-yellow dress. The upper half of the dress was tailored to be skin-tight for Chloe while the lower half opened in a upside down tulip-shaped gown. White lined each fold of the gown, followed by a blue backdrop. The cute, rounded collar of the dress shone a pastel yellow, with the ends of the dress lined in yellow as well. 

“Now put this on.” Marinette ushered, handing Chloe another hanger, but this one had a white blazer on it. Yellow and black stripes alike to a bumblebee’s twirled along the white of the blazer, giving the whole piece a very striking feel. 

“Utterly gorgeous.” Chloe breathed, twirling around before flipping her hair. “Aren’t I gorgeous?” 

Marinette giggled. “Yes, yes you are.” The bluenette’s eyes twinkled. “Do you know what you’re missing?” 

The bluenette reached into Chloe’s purse, where Pollen was resting quietly. The bee brooch shone in the evening sun, and Marinette slipped in properly over Chloe’s silvery, blonde hair. “There.” She smiled. “You deserve it, Chloe.” 

The blonde’s lip trembled. She turned away, embarrassed. “I-I’m not crying, Dupain-Cheng.” 

Marinette pulled the blonde in for a hug, her arms looping around the dress to squeeze Chloe in for a hug that conveyed a thousand messages. 

Thank you. 

“Um… Hey.” Damian cleared his throat, an amused smile on his lips as the two girls turned to glare at him in unison. 

“We were having a moment!” Chloe snapped. “Be quiet. Get out!” 

Marinette sighed, letting go of Chloe. “Well, Damian, let’s get you changed, too.” She retrieved two articles of clothing from off the hanger, handing him a black button-up shirt, a pair of dark green jeans, and finally, a black-green vest to go on top of all of it. 

Damian took the hangers from Marinette, turning to go change. The bluenette stared as he left, the small pinch of green sparkles between his fingertips only adding more to her growing suspicion. 

—

“It’s the right size?” Marinette asked as she told Damian to move around and check if the blazer was just right for him. 

“Yes.” He nodded, a little worried. When he took to hanger from her, he’d used the hand with the sparkles on them- He didn’t have time to wash them off, and he only noticed when he went to change in the toilet. 

Shuffling over to her table, Marinette came back with a brush and and a bottle of hair spray. “Don’t move.” She instructed as she stood on her tip-toes, reaching up to tame his messy black bangs. 

Damian chuckled, kneeling down so she didn’t have to strain herself to reach up. The bluenette huffed, brushing his hair with more strength, making him wince in the process. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Damian scowled. “Easy, an- Marinette.” He corrected. 

Chloe rolled her eyes at the two. “Hurry up! The show must go on, and it can’t go on without the main characters, okay?” 

—

Bruce sat in the front row of the fashion show, his finger lingering over Damian’s number. Before he could decide on whether to call is son, however,  the lights flicked on. 

Meanwhile, in the backstage, the designer was pepping up her models as she handed the both of them black masks that would help conceal their identities (Paris is blind, just a mask will make you unrecognisable). “You’ve got this!” Marinette grinned. “Fighting!” 

Chloe nodded confidently, tying the mask around her head, avoiding her hair, while Damian only smiled warmly to reassure the bluenette. “We’ll be fine.” He told her, putting on his own mask, knowing she was only trying to calm her own nerves. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. 

Marinette made a purring noise in her throat softly before she caught herself. She cleared her throat, her own mask in hand. “Um, good luck?” 

“Let’s give it up for the MDC line!” The MC announced, and the two took that as their cue. 

“Presenting to you- Bumblebee in the Sky.” 

Chloe stepped out first, the white, blue and yellow dress catching the eyes of many in the crowd due to it’s striking palette. The white blazer flapped fiercely in the wind that was supplied by the large fans towards the side, and the blonde strutted on the walkway, flipping her hair, striking a pose on the end of the walkway. Cameras flashed at the unique design of the bumblebee stripes on the white blazer, and the audience clapped. Chloe turned back towards the entrance, and Damian was ushered out. 

“Nightingales in the Dark.” 

He was a little uncomfortable with the lights and cameras- But he was a Wayne. He was used to it. 

The audience murmured about the unique, shiny fabric that was the dark green base for the suit. The black button shirt, under the sight of the spotlights, revealed spiralling, silver designs that detailed of nightingales and ivies. It was only when the light shone down on it, it would reflect and glow against the dark fabric. 

Damian glowered fiercely at the cameras as he stood on the end of the walkway, catching sight of Marinette stuffing Chloe into the next design out of the corner of his eye. He had to take his time- So that Chloe had enough time to change. Changing his pose, Damian saw an ‘ok’ sign from Marinette, and headed back inside as Chloe emerged with her next ensemble. 

“May I present to you- Majesty.” 

The next dress was the pastel yellow masterpiece that was clearly inspired by Queen Bee. Chloe’s blonde hair danced in the wind gracefully, the brooch on her hair sparkling bright and golden.

The crowd awed at the pastel dress- Golden detailing lined the dress the same way they lined Damian’s shirt- They would only show under the light. Golden threads told of numerous, graceful bees that were waltzing in the wind, and colourful threads painted flowers and grasses along the edge of the dress, bringing out colours of red, dark blue, emerald and ivory white. 

Chloe posed more than multiple times for the camera, each camera fighting for cover-page photos of the gorgeous dress. 

Meanwhile, Damian was busy putting on his next set- The grey t-shirt with his Robin jacket. When he emerged from the changing room, Marinette had a knowing smile on her lips. 

“Ready?” She asked softly. He nodded, smiling in reply. 

“Ready.” 

—

When Bruce first saw Damian onstage, it was definitely not what he had been expecting. He had never thought Damian would be modelling- That said quite a lot about the girl, if she was able to convince Damian to model. 

He had taken more than one photo and maybe shed more than one (1) tear. 

After the spectacular piece that was Majesty, Bruce had been throughly awed by the aspiring designer. 

“Now, let’s give a round of applause for a piece that was inspired by one of Gotham’s superheroes- Robin!” 

Damian stepped into the light, feeling more than comfortable in the jacket that was made for him.

The jacket gleamed in Robin’s primary colors- Black, red, green and yellow. The R logo sat above his heart, the silver zip gleaming under the brightness of the spotlights. The hoodie had been pulled up, revealing white fur sewed into the lining of the hoodie, similar to how the actual Robin’s uniform was like. The grey t-shirt he wore under the jacket was fluid and soft, the black jeans perfect for active movement.

The click of cameras went of in what seemed like the distance as Damian sensed Marinette’s eyes on him, seemingly full of pride. 

He wondered if she was thinking about what Robin would think if he were in the crowd? 

—

“That was a success!” Marinette beamed. “Even though there were only four ensembles, it was really good!” 

Chloe and Damian felt their hearts warm at the sight of the bluenette jumping around in excitement. 

“Now, all that’s left is the closing act.” Marinette smiled. “I prepared two more ensembles for you two, we’re probably going to need to go out and take more pictures.” She shrugged.

Chloe groaned. “More?” 

A giggle escaped the bluenette’s lips. “Once we’re done, I’ll treat you both to coffee and some cake, okay?”

—

The cameras went wild as the two models finally walked out in the last piece they had to present. 

Damian wore a Lordbug-inspired piece. A white button-up shirt peaked out from below his black and red sweater, paired with a pair of black-and-white checkerboard loose slacks. A grey jacket was tied around his waist, and to top it off, a black cap with ‘Lordbug’ embroided on the front sat on his dark bangs. 

Chloe wore a Kitty-inspired outfit. A large, black sweater with the words ‘Meow’ stitched in bold white in the middle caught the hearts of many. Chloe had pulled up the hoodie of the sweater, revealing cat ears sewn on the hoodie itself. A dark blue, plaited skirt revealed a pair of long socks with the pattern of cat’s whiskers on Chloe’s legs, finished by a pair of green-black boots. 

The crowd lost it. The headlines the next day would read ‘Paris’s Superheroes Inspired MDC’s First Line’. 

“Now, let’s introduce MDC herself- Wearing her own original!” The audience sat on the edge of their seats, anticipating the great designer who had created all of the wonderful masterpieces that they just saw. 

The two models stood on both sides of the walkway, matching, proud smiles on their faces as the shy bluenette pushed past the curtain that blocked the view of the backstage. 

She was truly, the star of the show- Literally. 

Black netting- Tinged with silver threads- Formed the collar, dipping into a dark, velvety, black fabric. A heart neckline, perfectly shaped, showed just enough of Marinette’s collarbone. The top half of the dress hugged Marinette’s usually concealed curves while the bottom half blossomed into a floor-length ballgown. The folds in the ballgown were evenly distributed, the pearls among the fabric like shining stars in the sky. The sprinkled, emerald sparkles only emphasised on the concept of making the pearls alike to stars. 

Marinette blushed, brushing a strand of her dark blue hair behind her ear. 

“Let’s give a round of applause for MDC!” 

The hall exploded into thunderous applause, marvelling at the young designer standing on the stage. “Tell me, how do you feel?”

Marinette cleared her throat, her black mask only framing her bluebell eyes flawlessly. “Well, actually, I’m a little overwhelmed.” She laughed, immediately capturing the hearts of the Parisians on sight. Bruce’s heart warmed, like I’m going to adopt that kid. 

“It’s my first time publicly letting my works go out, so I was quite nervous.” MDC admitted. “But I’m really, really happy with how it turned out, and I have to thank my wonderful models for that.” 

The MC nodded approvingly. “Well, MDC, do you plan to start your own brand, seeing as how popular it’s going to be?” 

MDC nodded. “I’ve always wanted to start my own brand. Starting tomorrow, the MDC website will be open for commissions.” She smiled. 

The crowd chattered excitedly at the announcement, and Bruce nodded approvingly. The girl was confident, independent, and polite. Truly, this girl that Damian had found one-of-a-kind.  

“Will you be planning on revealing your identity one day?” The MC asked, holding the mic to Marinette’s lips. 

MDC hummed, contemplating on her answer. “Perhaps one day I will,” She said truthfully. “But as of currently, I’d rather keep it under wraps until I’m old enough to reveal it.” 

The crowd gasped in surprise. 

“Yes, I’m underage.” MDC revealed, “I’m still in school, and I’m still studying. Maybe after I graduate, I’ll announce my identity.” She bowed. “Thank you for coming to my fashion show today, everyone.” She smiled softly. “It makes me really happy. Thank you once again.” 

Cameras scrambled for pictures. 

“MDC, can we get a picture of you and your models, please?” They implored. 

Alya scrambled against the flow of the adults, jumping up and down excitedly. “MDC, can I get a picture with you, please?” She grinned. “I’m the Kittyblogger!” 

If it was six months ago, Marinette would’ve gladly gave Alya a photo, but now was different. 

“I’ve brought my own camera person.” She told the crowd politely. 

Aurore pushed her way through the crowd, an honoured smile on her lips. “MDC, can you and your models face my camera, please?” 

Chloe and Damian glanced at Marinette for confirmation, and she nodded. The three stood together, smiling as Aurore took pictures of them, the other cameras scrambling to stand behind Aurore to get photos as well. Once the girl was done, Marinette gestured for the two to go backstage. 

“Thank you so much, everyone.” She bowed politely, leaving to go backstage with the rest. 

Once backstage, they found Aurore waiting. 

“You ready for the interview?” She asked, a smile on her face. “Once again, I must thank you, MDC. It’s an honour.” 

Marinette brushed it off. “I need to thank you. Right, um, I think I’m ready.” 

Aurore begin recording, and gave Marinette the ‘ok’ sign. 

“Hello, everyone. My name is MDC, and I’m a designer.” She smiled. 

“MDC, what are your designs primarily inspired by?” Aurore asked from behind her camera. 

MDC tilted her head, making a thinking face. “Well, they’re mostly inspired by people around me. As you saw, some of the ensembles were inspired by the superheroes that have been protecting our city.” 

Aurore nodded, giving Marinette a thumbs up. “Just now, on stage, you announced that you would be setting up a website and that you would be accepting commissions. How much, on average, will the commissions be?” 

“That depends.” Marinette paused. “As you saw, the fabric I use for the ensembles are not ordinary fabrics- In fact, some of them I made myself. The embroidery on the fabrics take quite some time as well. I only use the best materials for my works, so it’ll depend on what materials I used and how much those were.” She gave an apologetic look. 

Aurore nodded in understanding. “I understand. Your art is a rather detailed art, after all, it takes up a lot of effort. How much time do you use to make one ensemble?” 

“That depends. Before, I used to be really busy as my ex-friends used to commission things out of me without paying, so my schedule was really packed up. However, I am pleased to announce that my schedule has been cleared up, so it should take an average of one week to two weeks for a commission, however, if it takes a lot of hand-work, it might stretch up maximum to two months.” 

Aurore nodded. “Thank you so much for interview, MDC. I wish you luck in your line of work, and I look forward in seeing more of your designs!” 

The camera clicked off, and Aurore squealed. “I cannot thank you enough, Mari!” 

Marinette sighed in relief, taking off her mask. “I’ll have to thank you, you’re helping me advertise.” 

Aurore paused, digesting the thought. “I suppose so, but you’re giving me my chance to be a famous blogger!” Aurore sighed dreamily. “I promise I’ll take this seriously.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Marinette groaned tiredly. “Right, who wants coffee and cake?” 

—

Bruce sat on his seat, not moving, still waiting for the three to come out from behind the curtains. He wanted to meet his future-daughter-in-law, after all.

Most of the crowd had dispersed- In fact, practically everyone had left. It was just Bruce, being a lonely old man by himself in the entire hall. 

At last, he decided to just call his son. 

“Damian.” 

“Yes.”

“Where are you?” 

“...Why?” 

“I need to meet my daughter-in-law.” 

“No.” 

And then he hung up. 

Bruce looked up only to see three teens sneaking out from the side door. He shook his head, sighed, and went back to his hotel.  

---

/Part Twelve/

---

Poor Bruce :( Issok you’ll meet Mari sooner or later <3

Next chapter is probably going to be heavy salt about Lila knowing MDC 

(Tag list! @yin-390@mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog@constancetruggle@the-navistar-carol@never-neverland @rayray384 @mystery-5-5 @black-streak@bluerosette23@seraphichana @you-will-never-know-how-i-think@mikantsume@graduatedmelon@thebookwormfairy@crazylittlemunchkin@shizukiryuu @screamingtofillthevoid@serenacross200@zestyzealot@redscarlet95 @roseinbloom02 @beautym3@resignedcatservant@sizzling-fairy-oil@tinybrie @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry@lunar-wolf-warrior@northernbluetongue@dannyelric301 @daminett4life @loysydark@sparkle9510@erick-rose99-stuff @nataladriana9 @maya-custodios-dionach @myazael @sassakitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @emootaku-666 @moonlightstar64 @r0sebutch @maggiecc12 @gaeasun

#daminette #damian x marinette #marinette dupain cheng mlbdc #damian wayne mlbdc #bruce wayne mlbdc #poor bruce #chloe bourgeois mlbdc #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #mlbdc #mlb x dc #miraculous ladybug x dc

[caffeinetheory]

There’s Gotta Be A Reason

Follow up to Everything Stays requested, well they got me to consider it, @mystery-5-5

this is Jason’s point of view, and he may seem a little ooc for him but i wanted a softer take, hopefully it will make sense, also sorry for the long wait, i kept putting off finishing it ‘cause i want to hopefully make something that’ll stand with the original

(I ended up skipping the last verse because i wanted to focus on Jason not Mari also if this is all over the place sorry, I’ve been working on and off with it and it was longer then I meant to make and took way longer, oops )

///

The bruises still lingered on his arms and the dried blood was still sticking to his skin. They were the only things Jason could feel at the moment, he was numb. Completely numb and barely knew his own name. Only one thing stayed in his mind untouched by the madness of the pit, loving bluebell eyes that seemed to hold the world to him and a soft voice drowned out by whatever had brought him back. 

There's gotta be a reason that I'm here on Earth

As memories slowly came back to him there was one constant, a girl. She was special to him, he knew that much but he couldn't place why for the life of him. Maybe she was the reason he was back, no that couldn’t be it. Talia made sure Jason knew he was theirs because he owed them from bringing him back.

But why was she the only thing he could remember, there has to be something. The distant memory of what must have been her laugh is sometimes the only thing keeping him sane.  Something in the back of his mind tells him he should hold back, but what was it?

Gotta be a reason for the dust and the dirt

Seeing the grave for the first time was jarring. He really did die didn’t he. Pain enveloped his mind as he tried to remember, but it hurt to much so he just let it go. There are more important matters at the moment anyway, like getting out from under their control. That was one thing he could never forget, he didn’t like being told what to do.

The changing of the seasons never changed my hurt

It must have been at least a year since he was brought back and he still under them. The plan was coming together, he’d run with their weapon. It was bad enough they were messing with his life but a CHILD! That wouldn’t stand. Another spring was coming, that was when he’d make his break. All that was left was to get the kid on board.

So what's it worth? What's it worth?

Saving Damian may have been a mistake, the kid was an absolute pain, but it felt like the right thing to do. Weird to think he could do the right thing but something told him that was what he should do.

Damian told him where to drop him off, a manor. It brought the pain in his head but he ran to the shadows before it could get worse. There was something important about the manor but it wasn’t the right time to figure it out.ashes of memories were becoming more frequent while he was in Gotham.

Worth another shot of whiskey and another sip of gin

Being passed out drunk was one of the only things keeping the pit’s madness under control, if you can even call it that. If he was drunk he couldn’t go out and fill the need to kill, be the Hood. Bottles littered the floor, the weapons he could run with strewn about on every surface there wasn’t a bottle. This wasn’t right but what else could he do, remembering hurt but something told him it would be worth the pain. 

Another drop of poison that is slowly sinking in

Was he ready though, that’s the question.

Downing the last of the whiskey in his shit apartment he made himself a drunken promise. This would change. Fight through the pain and go back to the manor, check on the kid, see if he can find out why it causes the pain that only happens when he is trying to remember the before.

If we're going down together, better take another hit

Dick was the one who found a lost Jason looking lost in the manor gardens. 

“Jay…”

“...Dickie”

The brothers broke down in each others arms. This started a practice between the two, every over day they would meet at a coffee shop and Dick would help him with his memories. It was slow and it hurt the older boy to see his little brother hurting so much but they made it work.

We won't be here forever, so let's make the best of it

It was a year and a half later he got to see Roy again. You couldn’t separate the for weeks afterwards. They helped one another, became a duo. What they did wasn’t exactly legal but when was being a vigilante ever legal. 

They were the fuck-ups but they worked. They did what they could to help when others wouldn’t. Roy helped with relapses and the intrusive thoughts, Jay could keep Roy grounded. Together they were the Outlaws, others would join them from time to time but it was something that was theirs.

Walking down to the burial ground

The day he finally saw his grave was a jarring one to say the least. It was the day everything finally fell into place. That laugh that could be heard when he was alone explained, the hard to control urge to mame clowns, and red crowbars making him uneasy. It all made sense, why that clown was still alive would always baffle him but that wasn’t his problem.

With a sad song in his brain

It also brought back the sweet voice in the back of his head. Always there but he could finally hear it again. Soft bliss like bells on a warm spring day. Pure comfort, he knew it went with the eyes, but no one could tell him who they belonged to. At first he thought it was Dick, but that wasn’t right, but who else had known him and been close to him?

General Cloud is an old man now

When he saw Bruce again with no masks in the way he didn’t know how to feel. There were a thousand questions going through his head, the loudest being why...why didn’t you do anything? At this point did it matter though, what’s done was done. It was clear he had gone through enough already, no wasn’t the time to stab an old wound… since when did I think about others like that?

But it feels like yesterday

Despite the open invitation to stay at the manor Jason avoided it as much as he could. The photos and halls bringing back what he assumed were memoires, memories hurt. It was a pain he wasn’t ready to quite fully face, that was until he saw the hidden frame. It's simple black outline was hard to miss in the library. It was with his favorite book, why his favorite book was a worn red leather bound book written entirely in French he wasn't sure but something told him it was more than what was contained on the yellowing pages. 

He was on the front lines, stranded on the beach

Memories from a gala not to long after he was adopted came flooding his head. Feeling lost because he was alone, Dick had classes and Jason was by himself in forein country. Baby pink and calm also flashed in his mind. There still wasn’t a clear face but she was real! He knew it! Walks throughout the city, along the Seine and thorough every back alley. She lead him to all her favorite places, showed him the lights that reminded him of the stars, showed him kindness when he felt alone. Was she the reason the madness wasn’t completely gripping him, but how could that be?

Crawling to his best friend, floating in the sea

Roy had found him thumbing through the yellowed pages seemingly lost in his own head. Roy saw the picture and things started to make sense, but for now he needed to take him back home. The next few weeks Jason wasn’t fully there, the memories were hitting him like a flood, sweeping him away. It was hard but he made himself swim, he pushed them back but not away. He still had a mission to attend to.

But he didn't make it, he still can't believe

Every Time he tried to remember now nothing new comes, he knows there is more. There has to be doesn’t there. This can’t be all, Jason Peter Todd knew there was more, what was the key to a lock he couldn’t find?

How arbitrary fate is, he says

Jason thought he had everything there was in his memories at this point, it had been at least 3 years since he died and more than a year since he was free from the League’s influence but her name always eluded him. The one time he tried to ask Dick they both got called away on something urgent and Dick would evade the question every time. Who was she and what had happened that her saying name was akin to saying the cursed words that would bring the devil himself to the living room?

There's gotta be a reason that I'm here on Earth

Something felt different as Red Hood took out the latest drug cartel with Arsenal, something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was a good different though, like something good was going to come his way soon. 

Gotta be a reason for the dust and the dirt

Visiting his grave still felt weird to Jason, but it was a place he could think clearly. No one bothered him there, it was just him and the old him. Something in the back of Jason’s head told him that the old him, old memories would finally be clear in the coming months. A single marigold laid on his grave as left, a small smile on his face as the gate closed behind him.

The changing of the seasons never changed my hurt

Spring came and went, so did most of the summer. Still nothing new has happened but Jason kept the positive thought in his head. He had made it this far, what was the point of giving up now. That didn’t mean tracing his scars to try and bring back more memories didn’t hurt when nothing came up, but at least Roy could always distract him.

So what's it worth? What's it worth?

Fall was about mid way through when Bruce had gotten a call from someone in the Watchtower, who he didn’t know but he could tell it wasn’t expected. Why would someone move to this godforsaken place, a Leaguer no less? Did they have a deathwish? 

Worth another shot of whiskey and another sip of gin

The anniversary of the Outlaws forming was quite the weekend bender, the whole family insisted he celebrated, kept him out of the area for some reason. Roy took him to Star City to get wasted, sure he was going clean but it was a special case, and maybe it hurt his family wanted him gone for awhile… he really thought that after all this time they didn’t see him as a problem kid anymore, that he had improved, at least he still had Roy by his side.

Another drop of poison that is slowly sinking in

The hangover the next day sucked ass, Roy and Jason could agree on that. But it got his mind off what his family didn’t want him to know about. 

If we're going down together, better take another hit

A few weeks later Jason got called to help with a case in Gotham. With everyone, which was weird with how they seemed to be trying to keep him from the city the last few weeks, but if his family needed him he would better. That’s what family was for after all wasn’t it?

We won't be here forever, so let's make the best of it

With Red Hood’s help the villain team up was taken care of quickly. Something told Jason to hang around for longer though, so he did. Taking up an old patrol route. The feeling came back, and for a reason he couldn’t explain it brought a smile to his lips.

There's gotta be a reason that I'm here on Earth

Jason had finished his patrol earlier than usual, he was one of the only ones out that night. He could hear voices from the living room, something told him he should go in but he couldn’t get himself too. What was this feeling? 

Then the voice that was always telling him how he mattered, how much they cared, the one that helped him, came through the ajar door like it was meant just for him. There was a sadness in it that made his heart break, she didn’t deserve to feel that sad. She was an angel and she deserves all the happiness in the world. 

Gotta be a reason for the dust and the dirt

Curiosity was getting the best of him, why was she here? As she talked about a chain he had an epiphany Marinette!!! Her name was Marinette, and with that everything fell into place. She was his light, his reason to fight even if he didn’t know it.

Something she said made him forget about the joy he felt, “I think that’s why I couldn’t let it be real, let him go… I always wanted to be by his side, with him through thick and thin.”

She still loved him? She didn’t know he was alive? How much pain had she been going through? He couldn’t catch his helmet before it hit the ground making everyone look his way, he was into much shock to care though, she was real and staring right to his soul. 

The changing of the seasons never changed my hurt

At first she was tense and ready to fight but Dick called his name and that was all it took for her to launch herself at him. Any punch he got her deserved...wait she was holding him like he would disappear if she let go. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and Mari just held him closer. Regaining his thoughts after the initial shock Jason returned the hug just as tight, “I’m here, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere,” he needed it just as much as she did. Lighty petting her hair as he helped calm her down, she was really in his arms again. 

How long had it been? Too long and she was there now, that's what mattered. He had a lot of time to make up for, and gosh darn he was going to.

So what's it worth? What's it worth?

They had both changed so much since they were in their teens but he could still see her beauty under all the scars, she maybe slightly worse for wear but she was still his Mari. the look she gave him looking into his eyes, he knew she could still she him in there, and even if she didn’t know it she was the reason. He had found his reason to live again. The calling was right, something good was going to happen eventually, and the wait was more than worth it.

Worth another shot of whiskey and another sip of gin

They spent the rest of the night together, talking and just being together. When Jason awoke with movement on his chest he was worried then seeing Mari he was at ease. She took his hand and lead him like a  puppy to the kitchen where they could eat breakfast. 

Eventually she had to go but they exchanged numbers and he was already planning a date. They had years of lost time to make up for and like hell he wouldn’t start as soon as he could. She was his light and he was going to keep that light close as much as he could.

Another drop of poison that is slowly sinking in

Seeing Mari sitting on the dock swinging her legs like when they would hang out in Paris brought a smile to Jason’s lips. She looked stunning in jeans and a red hoodie, a red that reminded him of his costume, she took off her headphones upon hearing him, a grin burst onto her lips when she saw him. She brought a warmth to his chest he never wanted to leave. Holding out a black helmet to the girl of his dreams she got on his bike holding him together then she needed to, Mari was having time time of her life as they speed down the docks at high speeds. She really was perfect.

If we're going down together, better take another hit

We won't be here forever, so let's make the best of it

When the night ended Jason made a promise to himself, and by the look in her baby blue eyes she did too, they would make this work. 

Life might be short but with you by my side it will all be worth it...

///

Finally finished and I hope the wait was worth it <3

#maribat #my writing #jasonette #song fic #follow up #song fics #hope this isnt too ooc #this took so long #im sorry for the wait #long post #i did figure out how to link though

[greenninjagal-blog]

It’s Always Been This Way (Hasn’t It?)pt2

Hello! Did someone order 52 pages of Virgil angst, gayness, and magical shenanigans? If you missed the prologue you can find it right [here]!

Summary: After deciding not to go back to Hogwarts for their final year of school, Virgil, Roman, Patton, and Logan all enjoy living together in their quiet muggle neighborhood and doing small tasks for the Order. It would be nice, Virgil thinks, if he wasn’t actively lying to their faces every day.

Also if the Neo Death Eaters weren’t trying to kill his friends.

Words: 21,080 (and no thats not some joke)

Read on AO3 ||  My General Writing Masterlist

Chapter One: Liar, Liar (House On Fire)

“This is absolute bullshit and they know it!” Virgil yells to no one, as he slams the morning paper on the table.

From somewhere not far away, Patton’s voice calls out “language”, but Virgil doesn’t really register it at all. He’s too busy reading over the front page article again as if he missed something the previous four times he had read it. He flicks his wand (Cypress, 9 inches, semi flexible) across the kitchen with barely a thought which makes the coffee pot start up and his favored mug place itself under it.

It’s somewhere past eight in the morning, and Virgil still feels drowsy which probably isn’t helping his mood at all. He hasn’t gotten a full night's rest in at least three years, and he doesn’t expect to get it for another ten years. And that’s only if his half muggle born ass survives that long.

He snarls at the paper again, slamming a fist on the table hard enough that the stinging goes all the way up his arm to the back of his eyes, and that in turn ruffles the owl on the perch in the corner out of its trance.

“Sorry Logan.” Virgil breathes in deep and snarls it back out.

The horned owl titters on the perch turning towards him, blinks twice in a sophisticated way that’s made doubly effective by the strange rectangular pattern around its eyes, and then reaches out its wings. With powerful gust and a blur of brown, white, and black feathers, the animal leaps into the air. It morphs with precision, a complex series of motions that elongates its body, shrinks the eyes, and changes the number of bones under its feathers all together. Its fascinating to watch: in less than a second the air is filled by a stern looking seventeen year old with square glasses, a sharp nose, and matted dark hair that rarely appears to have a strand out of place.

But then again, Virgil thinks its fascinating every time Logan breaks the law at all. There’s something about seeing a man so rule orientated like Logan breaking those very same rules that makes Virgil’s heart flutter in that entirely unhelpful way.

“Salutations, Virgil,” Logan says, sounding exactly like he had just swallowed a muggle computer. “May I inquire what has your frustrations today?”

Virgil huffs, sliding the paper across the table for his friend. “See for yourself.”

Logan picks it up at the same time as Virgil flicks his wand at his mug and exchanges it for the one Logan favored. Logan’s still frowning at the article when both the cups come levitating through the air and set themselves on the table between them.

The Daily Prophet had never been Virgil’s favorite source of information. It didn’t take a genius to know when a reporter was being paid to report--or not report-- something. Not to mention it was practically controlled by the Ministry and that it was more concerned with sales than with accuracy.

Still, Virgil is too much of a sucker for routine to cancel his subscription to the utter nonsense. Which leads him to mornings such as this: grumbling into his coffee mug, with his illegal animagus of a friend across from him equally displeased and showing it in the way his eyebrows furrow and his thin lips squeeze together, with Patton in the other room somewhere, probably stress cleaning again (which is marginally better than when he’s stress eating), and Roman out on his morning jog through the quiet muggle neighborhood they called their own.

It’s strange, Virgil thinks, knowing that none of their neighbors are aware of the nuclear bombs that rest in each of their pockets disguised as sticks that they might have picked up in the park last Saturday.

It’s strange, Virgil thinks, that its September fourth and none of them are at Hogwarts, or even intending on going to the esteemed magic school that had been their homes for six years prior.

It’s strange, Virgil thinks, knowing that Dee’s family had helped finance the Dark Lady's rise to political power and then had started murdering muggles in distant countries and the Daily Prophet was refusing to acknowledge any of it at all.

They’d all be seventh years this year, completing the second half of their courses and preparing for the NEWTS and practicing their nonverbal spells. And maybe Virgil’s spent too much time in his own head this summer because he misses going the kitchens and tapping out the rhythmic pattern of “Helga Hufflepuff” on the barrel that would open up to the soft, cozy, and quiet common room. From the very first moment he had done it himself, Virgil had always felt a bit like he was walking home when he entered the Hufflepuff dorms, as ridiculous a notion as it was. (And he’d die before he’d admit that to anyone else.)

But even here, in Roman’s semi-modest muggle neighborhood, it feels a bit like that. He can’t pretend that he doesn’t like waking up and seeing those three again and again and again. He doesn’t want to either.

He feels guilty about it. A whole lot of guilty. For the first month of them living together, Virgil hadn’t been able to sleep at all, because he’d been so afraid of waking up, and finding the spell over them had broken.

Virgil can survive losing a lot-- he’s done it before with his mother, his home, his holidays, his sanity (on Thursdays, specifically),-- he doesn’t think he can survive losing them too. And that’s partially his fault, he supposes: his defining character trait has always been that fierce loyalty, with a more than a dash of selfishness that his mother hadn’t managed to iron out of him. 

He loves the spell that was over them. He also hates that he loves the spell that was over them.

The second they found out it would be over and they’d never forgive him for using them like stepping stones.

His fingers tighten around the mug at the spiral of his own thoughts. Logan’s eyes flick up from his reading to look at him, and Virgil wished he knew what that sort of look meant. If they had actually been friends for five years, he probably would have known.

Its a little late to ask.

It doesn’t matter much because the next moment the front door opens with a loud boom and a louder voice sings the ending line of some Disney song that Virgil recognizes only because it had been in the back of his head for three days straight. (That song from that night when the four of them had curled up in the living room and Roman had tugged him into a cuddle and then forgotten to let go of him before he fell asleep with his head on Virgil’s shoulder and-- and he was blushing just thinking about it.)

Virgil makes a mistake of swallowing his coffee at the same time as Roman Prince comes tromping into the kitchen after his morning run. And hell, if it didn’t take every single muscle in his body to keep from spitting his drink back up.

Virgil has seen Roman come back from runs before: it was part of his routine that he rarely switched up and he had admitted to Virgil once that it was when he did his best thinking. Alone with his music in his ear, his wand in his pocket, and the rhythmic pounding of his sneakers on the pavement-- Virgil could see how it was appealing. If it didn’t require getting up so early, or going outside, or like...exercising, Virgil would have totally been down to run with him. 

But the way that Roman comes into the room-- his shirt in his hands, instead of on his body like a normal person, glistening with sweat that seemed to drip off every single muscle which was only emphasized by the smug look on his face, his eyes sparking with his endorphins running rampid and his face still flushed from his workout--like he knew, the little shit, knew that he was making Virgil short circuit by looking like that.

Virgil swallows his coffee, with his hands around his mug so tightly he thinks it might take a crowbar or diffindo to get them apart.

Logan turns into an owl again.

(Animals don’t feel emotions quite like humans, Logan had said once and Virgil has never been able to get over that particular jealousy.)

“What's the matter, Morgan le Fretful?” Roman asks with that shit eating grin of his that, by itself, can turn Virgil’s thought process into a first graders string art project. That smile coupled with his gleaming abs and Virgil’s complete and utter gayness? Oh he’s down for the count and out of the game all together.

“Boo,” Virgil manages, “Weak.”

“I think it was a good one!” Roman responds so blithe and warm that Virgil wonders if the sun came to earth for the day. Logan flutters his feathers, which only makes Roman laugh more.

“Put on a shirt, Princey,” Virgil says, deliberately not looking at him as he says it. He steals the paper back from Logan’s place, and pretends to find the articles in it interesting and not at all offensive. 

"And if I don't?" Roman's wiggling his eyebrows and Virgil can tell because the picture of Celestina Warbeck (the famed Singing Sorceress, whom Roman had once said should be the next Disney Princess) was blushing furiously and waving her face in her article.

Virgil glares at the singer and she gives him a wink like she knows exactly what his heart is doing in his chest. He changes pages as fast as he can, grabs his mug and his wand in one hand, and does not look up at Roman.

"If you don't, Patton's gonna have a hard time putting out the Bluebell flames I'm gonna--"

Virgil stops mid sentence as his eyes catch on a familiar face on the page. A face he hadn't seen in a year, but saw each and every time he had a nightmare. The paper crinkled in his hand.

"Virgil?" Roman says playfulness gone. "If it's really that much of a bother I'll put it on--"

Virgil blinks once, twice, and he swallows hard. "What? No its-- Its fine. I don't care." He folds the paper and sticks it under his arm as he convinces himself to keep breathing.

Roman stares at him (shirt around his neck like hawaiian lei). Logan gives a ruffle of feathers and touches down at the edge of the table next to Virgil's elbow. Despite being a bird, and despite the fact the markings around his eyes only look like glasses, the gaze he holds is sophisticated and knowing. Virgil refuses to look at him, at either of them. He finds a spot just over Roman’s shoulder to stare at in conviction.

"I'm fine," Virgil says again, as if that will convince them. 

"You're clearly not." Logan's voice says and Virgil just barely restrains himself from batting the glasses off his face. (When the first animagus was done, why didn't they included a sound with their morphing? A bell ringing? A tumblr notification noise? Something???)

"Yeah, last time you acted like this after reading the paper, you disappeared for a day, without explanation." Roman says (and Virgil doesn't flinch, does not, does not), "So to prevent Patton from worrying all day, I'm gonna wait for an answer that's the truth."

"It is the truth!" Virgil responds. And its not a lie. Not a whole lie. Barely a partial lie. Its nothing compared to the other lies he's been telling.

And when neither of them fall for it, he lets out a defeated breath. "You guys remember Professor Remus Dukeson?"

Roman snorts, "Crazy Divination teacher? The one who ate a physical teacup in third year?”

Logan picks up a feather from the table, one of his own feathers, and twists it in his fingers, “What about him, Virgil?”

“Do you know what Alstroemeria flowers represent?”

Virgil unfolds the paper from under his arm, “He’s dead.”

Virgil doesn’t expect them to understand. He can’t expect them to. Logan thought Divination was a waste of school funds. It was the only class he didn’t even attempt to master. And Roman and Professor Remus never once got along. After the disaster of third year Roman had dropped Divination like it had been going out of style, and maybe it had. By fourth year only half the class had stuck around. 

And Virgil had been one of them.

He hadn’t been particularly good at it: he didn’t like his tea without sugar, the crystal balls never once filled with smoke for him, and he mixed up the head and life lines on his during the Palmistry portion of his OWLs despite having had the class for three whole years by then. Professor Remus had mentioned he had a latent talent once upon a time, but the man had also said that Roman was going to cast a forbidden curse at Virgil and Logan was going to win a duel with Professor Sanders, so Virgil hadn’t put much merit in his words.

But seeing the teachers face, his smirking mouth, his mustache that always had something in it, and even seeing his picture shuffling side to side as he was trying to stripe which unfortunately was not a new phenomenon to anyone who took his class...seeing Professor Remus in the Obituaries with the cause of death being labeled as an unsolvable murder? Oh, there was something cold about that, something that makes Virgil’s empty stomach churn and his head feel warm, and his fingers itch for the coin in the secret pocket over his heart. 

Theres a flash of red in the corner of his eye and Virgil freezes, but in the end its just Roman tugging his shirt over his head, and pushing back his sweat drenched bangs. He’s frowning, as people do when they hear someone died.

“Oh man,” Roman says, “That’s pretty awful. I mean he was a terrible teacher, but I never wanted to see him dead.”

“Agreed,” Logan says. He flips the paper to read the small written eulogy himself. “I wonder who the new teacher in his place is?”

“Maybe they brought back Trelawney?” Roman suggests.

And just like that the topic is gone and Remus Dukeson is forgotten. Virgil wishes that his right hand would stop feeling like someone had stabbed him with a thousand needles in the meantime, please and thanks.

Listening to them feels a lot like they’re standing on opposite sides of a one-way glass wall. They keep talking, the topic gone, and in a few minutes Virgil’s little freak out will have been forgotten to them. Virgil thinks he should be thankful for that: with his life on the line he really doesn’t need them to be prodding into why exactly crazy Remus Dukeson’s death matters all that much.

Crazy Remus Dukeson who would have been the only one who could have helped him out of the hole he’d been digging for himself for the past two years. But if he was dead, then there was no one left who could vouch for him when all of this was over, no one who would be able to stand in a court room and say without a doubt that Virgil had done the only thing he could have done, no one who would want to believe Virgil was a good guy.

And, of course, Logan was not stupid in any manner. If past memories hadn’t secured such a reaction as his as one of normality, then surely he would have put two and two together. Surely if he hadn’t had five years of false memories under his belt he would have realized that Virgil was hiding something behind that glass mirror of his, and that it was bad and evil and going to get them killed.

Virgil slips out of the room about the same time as Roman and Logan start arguing over whether Divination should even be a course offered at school (a debate of which has been ongoing for three years now). Part of him wants to be sad that it's so easy to just fade away from and exit the room without making them even turn from each other.

But Virgil knows how Roman and Logan stare at each other when they get into a debate, how everyone stares at Logan when he gets filled with that prim-and-proper, fuck-you fire. Outside of seeing him break the laws with ease, watching Logan get passionate is one of Virgil’s favorite sights. (Even if the first memory of it that Virgil has also includes Logan giving him a bloody nose and Patton crying--) 

Roman isn’t any different. That’s why he purposely eggs the ravenclaw on, and then stares stupidly at Logan’s flushed cheeks with a cocky smirk that is absolutely impossible for Virgil to witness when the other still hasn’t showered from his run.

So really its for his own sanity that he manages to escape the room when he does.

***

Virgil is coming down from his room at a quarter after four when Patton assaults him with the brightest wand-lighting charm Virgil has ever seen performed. 

“Pat! Fuck!” Virgil stumbles back on the stairs covering his eyes against the white light. “Warn a dude!”

“Virgil!” Patton yelps, “Language!” But he giggling far too much for it to come out stern. Virgil feels the other boy batting his hands away from his face, “Stop, stop that, Virgil!”

Virgil squints past the glare, “What are you--”

“Smile!”

Then there's a flash of light even brighter than Patton’s wand followed by a puff of purple smoke that practically spelled out what was going on.

Virgil coughs, waving off the smoke while Patton removes the wizard polaroid photo from his camera. His brain is working overtime trying to remember what holiday it is because Patton never breaks the camera out unless its an important date. But Virgil had his calendar in the room marked with all their birthdays, and the major and minor national holidays--magic and muggle alike because Patton had started crying the last time they forgot to tell him about Arbor Day and Virgil wasn’t ready for that to happen again in this lifetime or the next or the one after that. He’s even marked the full moon, because he was pretty sure the girl from the public library was a werewolf and didn’t want to accidentally wander outside if she missed a potion on one of those nights.

“Pat,” Virgil says in a sort of defeated, anxiety ridden tone. “What’s going on? Who’s birthday--”

Patton just laughs at him, and Virgil has to shut up at that. Patton’s laugh was like a waterfall, like bells chiming, like angels signing. Virgil would rather pitch himself from the Astronomy Tower than miss any second of his glorious happiness. 

Its unhealthy. Its gonna be the end of him.

Virgil can’t help but smile at the other’s toothy grin. And if he gets a hug out of it? Well, someone once mentioned that that Virgil was touch starved, so that’s the reason he melts at Patton’s touch.

Patton shows him the picture without relinquishing any hold on him. Somehow that leads to them stumbling around on the stairs until Virgil’s sitting and Patton’s basically in his lap, fuck. But Patton doesn’t even seem to notice at all.

“It’s no one’s birthday!” Patton says, “I just was cleaning up earlier and I came across a bunch of photos from school!”

And just like that Virgil’s short lived happiness evaporates. Dread settles on his shoulders like a cloak, and anxiety wriggles straight down his throat to grip his pulsating heart. “Oh?”

It comes out too innocent. Patton doesn’t notice.

“Yeah! I got so many pictures of Logan and Roman and Me! I used to carry this camera around everywhere! Don’t you remember?”

Virgil remembers. He remembers it very well. Especially when he can see the crack on the side where the flash bulb hooked on before he had accio-ed it right out of Patton’s hands in second year and tossed it back and forth with Dee until even Logan had come to Patton’s defense. Especially when Logan had called all three of them childish and then Dee had laughed some sort of nasty laugh and tossed the camera right over the edge of the moving staircase, before linking hands with Virgil and dragging him out to the quidditch pitch for the rest of the time before dinner.

Virgil mentions none of this. “Yeah? What about it?”

Patton waves the photo in his face and, really, it's a pretty terrible photo of him. He didn't even know skin could be that pale and his hair is sticking up from where he had been running a hand through it all evening, and his irises were red from staring directly into the flash.

“I saw that we don’t have any pictures with you in them!” Patton sighed, “It’s terrible! You’ve been our friend for so many years! I can’t believe that you aren’t in any of our pictures!”

Virgil forces himself to keep smiling. It hurts his cheeks. “Well you know me…”

“So we have to take a bunch of pictures right now!”

Patton sets those blue eyes of his on him, and Virgil cannot believe that he’s 100% wizard. Somewhere someone in his family line had to be part selkie because those are definitely baby seal eyes, and who the fuck is gonna say no to them? Not Virgil!

“Okay,” Virgil says. “Alright sure, whatever you want.”

And he means it. He’d give Patton all the stars in the universe if he didn’t think removing them would make Logan lose his shit about order and necessity.

Besides Virgil has just as few photos of them as Patton has of him. So when the photo session is over and Patton’s hair was dusted purple and Virgil’s eyes hurt from the brightness and they were both crying from laughter, Virgil makes sure to snag one of the better photos for his own room.

(It was always so easy to laugh with Patton, so easy, nearly too easy. But that was okay for now.)

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Patton says, looking up from his glistening stack of pictures suddenly, “The Order is having a meeting next week.”

“Oh?” Virgil swallows nervously, “you mean like, having a meeting, here?” He folds the picture of him and Patton in his pocket, running the edge of the photo between his nail and the skin under it. (He’s pretty sure the photo version of Patton is talking the photo version of himself out of a panic attack, but he disregards it.) His other hand comes to his mouth, and he nips away at the black chipped nail polish. 

Patton shakes his head, and Virgil can’t but help a sigh of relief. “Nope! No worries, kiddo! Thomas-- wow, it sure is silly to call him by his first name!-- Professor Sanders and I talked about how uncomfortable you are with anyone new in the house, so instead we agreed that it was easier for us to go to him to give our reports!”

Patton hums looking at another picture, where he had magicked up some cat ears for the two of them. “Plus it would be a pain to have to undo all those charms you set up for one measely meeting!”

“Cool,” Virgil says.

It's not really, because Virgil hates leaving the house, hates stepping into an area that could so easily be compromised, hates when he can’t be sure if he’s leading his friends into a trap or if he’s just being paranoid again. But that’s definitely better than inviting people, even the Order, into the house that Virgil had made sure was their safe haven.

But Patton takes his quietness with grace. He gives up one of his blinding smiles and Virgil is vividly reminded of how pretty he looks like this. Virgil knows that the secrets he’s keeping from them are unforgivable, knows what they did to the trio of boys is terrible and deplorable and shameful. Despite that, Virgil can’t help but feel...relief that Patton is smiling like this.

Patton doesn’t remember why he should never smile at Virgil, doesn’t remember the year after year of Virgil tearing him down, doesn’t remember what Virgil and Dee did to him. And Virgil is selfish enough to be grateful for that.

“Oh would you look at the time!” Patton says brightly, “I better go start dinner before Roman gets into the pantry again! Are you going to be joining us, Vee?”

Virgil nods, even though he doesn’t really catch whats being said to him.

“Yay!” Patton holds his new pictures to his chest, “I’ll call you when its ready then! Love you, VeeVee!”

He says it so effortlessly.

Virgil wishes it didn’t feel like a snake wrapping around his chest and squeezing the breath right out of him. Patton pops back down the stairs, leaving a cold empty space in Virgil’s lap where he used to be. He jumps the last step and gives one last wave to Virgil as he turns the corner--

“Hey, uh, Pat?” Virgil says at the last second.

Patton hums to show he’s listening, even though he’s still flipping through their pictures. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Will Remy be there?”

Patton blinks and looks up the stairs at him. Virgil’s nails dig into the banister. Something flickers in the Ravenclaws eyes, confusion or pity. Virgil’s not sure there’s a difference at this point.

“Remy? Oh! You mean the Ravenclaw that joined the Order the year before us!” Patton shuffles the photos with a smile, “And you mean at the Order meeting, right?” He tilts his head to the side as he thinks, before shrugging and offering, “I’m not sure!”

Virgil breathes like he’s a drowned man finally come up from the water. “Uh, cool! That’s cool.”

The itch to recheck his charms hits him then. Like being trampled by a Mountain Troll.

Remy’s not a threat, Virgil tells himself.

Except that he is. Virgil had met the Ravenclaw twice before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t acutely aware that Remy was a very skilled Legilimens. 

And the last thing Virgil needs right now is someone poking around in his head. Virgil’s seen first hand what a Legilimens can do to someone: Patton looks at him with a smile instead of with tears, Roman challenges him to duels over the spot on the couch rather than to the death, Logan has no clue how attractive he looks angry out of his mind and giving people nosebleeds with his barefists.

“I do.”

No, Virgil doesn’t need someone looking in his memories, even at a glance. Not now, not when they’ve come so far and the Order is so, so very close to being able to combat the Dark Lady before she takes over the Ministry of Magic.

At best, he’ll be labeled a Neo-Death Eater. At worst, no one will ask any questions and they’ll just kill him without hesitation.

He needs to check the charms on the house, because that’s something other that just sitting on a staircase in the center of the house and having a break down where one of the others will see him.

Virgil launches himself to his feet and takes the six stairs upwards two at a time. He runs his fingers over the wall as he goes, picking at the peeling wallpaper that none of them have taken the time to fix yet. There are pictures of baby Roman and his muggle family at the beach on the walls and classical music coming from beyond the closed door of Logan’s room. Virgil moves beyond it all to his room at the end of the hall.

Well he calls it his room, and so do the others. Virgil thinks they might be a little upset if they ventured into the room that Roman had given him and found it was nearly the same as it had been at the beginning of summer break two years ago.

The window facing the street had the blinds drawn and a thick layer of dust over the windowsill because Virgil was not in the process of airing his dirty laundry or his room. The bed was neatly tucked in from his routine habit, the floor was clean and clear, his extra shoes lined up at the foot of the bed so he couldn't trip over them in the night--those were things he did to remember his mother; she always did like it when he kept his room neat. He had a total of eight outfits in the closet, which he was sure if Roman knew about he'd have a heart attack. So far Virgil had avoiding the issue by magically changing the shade of black in his shirts every other day.

The only things that Virgil had brought into the room that weren't absolutely necessary for him to have was that calendar on his wall, a collection of seventh year textbooks he had bought himself even though he wasn't going to school, his school trunk that he hadn't touched since getting off the train last year, and now, a picture of him and Patton making silly faces and laughing (very happy to be unfolded).

He slips out his wand and wanders towards the window.

The spells are all over the house, on every window, over every wall, under every carpet. Roman had put the first layer on himself when he was sixteen, and later when he, Patton, Logan, and Virgil had been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix, Thomas Sanders had come over and reapplied more of them. Once the Transfiguration Teacher had finished, Virgil had then moved in and quietly applied his own.

They were subtle differences in magic, in skill, in finesse. Virgil had smoothed over the rough edges and connected the corners that no one else might have noticed if they hadn’t gone looking for them. Every full moon Virgil had snuck around quietly checking the magic cloaking spell and then muggle deterrent spell and the silencing spells---

Needless to say the one time the girl scouts had rang the doorbell, Virgil had nearly had a heart attack. Patton had bought ten boxes of cookies with Roman’s money before Logan had managed to get Virgil to put his wand away.

Virgil had obsessively checked the spells after the girls had left until he found the loophole that had allowed the girls to get all the way to their front door. By the time he found it dinner had gone cold and only Logan was left awake to witness Virgil trip down the stairs in his haste to fix it.

Roman hadn’t even known he had been adding spells at all until Logan had tried to floo Remy Dormire into the house.

So Virgil’s first time meeting the legilimens is really not a good one. There had been something about the way that Remy had looked at him while Roman gave him the “dude what in Merlin’s name??” speech that made Virgil uneasy. Something about the way that a smile had flickered across Remy’s face and he sipped on his homemade tea that only Patton had touched, something about the way that Virgil felt like Remy had gotten inside his head without him drawing his wand, something about the way that Remy had said “It’s all cool hun! Paranoia is all part of the game!”, which made it sound like Virgil was overreacting yet again.

Something about the guy feels wrong to Virgil.

So he adds more charms to the house, ones he’s sure no one but himself and the trio of boys he lives with can get through.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

And in the end, he's right about that.

***

Their role in the Order is small really. They’re all too young to be doing anything important like infiltrating the Ministry-- except Logan, who despite choosing not to graduate from the esteemed magic school had been offered several internships over the summer which he had denied. Patton’s Uncle Kiddel had been very adamant that Patton be as far removed from danger as he could get, and while Roman had been a bit bummed at the lack of action he had jumped at a chance to offer his family’s house for their activities while his parents took an extended vacation to some place that Virgil doesn’t remember.

The combination of parents between the four of them is depressing: Roman’s muggle parents are unreachable, Patton’s are dead, Logan’s Dad took his mom to a safe place in another country, and Virgil’s mom… well, there’s an understanding between the four of them not to bring up parents unless they were trying to bring the mood down to rock bottom.

So really they are just four seventeen year olds living in the house together. Roman monitors the muggles near them, Logan handles correspondence between certain branches of the Order (although Virgil suspects that Thomas Sanders fields some of the letters before they get to them). Patton monitors the wizarding world. Virgil exists to be anxious on the edge of their consciousnesses.

He doesn’t have a job title really, but Virgil is the one who does his best to keep the rest of them alive and safe and not killing each other (which, surprisingly, happens at least once a week, when Roman gets tired of having no logical reason to practice magic and then starts charming things in the house that shouldn’t be charmed, when Logan runs out of work to do and restlessly snaps at them until a fight starts, when Patton gets too far in his head about what would happen if the Dark Lady manages to win against them and refuses to let any of them leave the room lest they disappear on him--)

So their part of the Order’s functions are minuscule. 

Virgil doesn’t see why they have to go at all, but he goes with Patton, Logan, and Roman to the Order meeting all the same. The location they pick is a townhouse that magically doesn’t exist until they need it to. When it does exist, its across the country so they take the brooms there, which makes Roman so happy he cries five minutes into flying, and almost makes Virgil not hate the heights so much.

(Roman, of course, used to be a Quidditch player, a Chaser, up until he decided not to go back to school that year. Virgil used to split his attention between watching Roman’s windswept hair and Dee’s cheeky smile when the latter managed to beat a bludger just right to knock the Quaffle right out of Roman’s hands.)

Virgil sidelines those memories and grips the handle of his broom until his knuckles are white and the cold air of the upper atmosphere begs him to stop holding so tight. Patton flies beside him, naturally swerving like a lackadaisical snake with the ease that only comes with having ridden brooms since he was in diapers. Ahead of them Roman does a loopdeloop and tries to goad Logan into racing him, who in turns calls him every childish name in the book.

It takes them forty minutes to get there. Roman wins the race, and because Logan is petty, he changes the color of Roman’s firetruck red robes to a dull beige.

“Hello Professor!” Patton waves to Thomas Sanders as the older man appears on the street across from them, and because Virgil’s luck is terrible, Remy Dormire appears next to him.

“Patton,” Thomas greets them all warmly. “I’ve told you guys to call me Thomas before.”

Said Ravenclaw ducks his head sheepishly, “Its just feels so strange! You’re always going to be my Transfiguration teacher to me!”

Remy cooes at him and pats Patton on the head, “You are so adorable, hun.” He says, “Come on Bitches! Its cold as balls out here and I’m ready to hear all the juicy gossip you babes have been collecting!”

Virgil is more worried about a muggle peeking out their windows and seeing four teenagers with brooms and long cloaks so for once he agrees with the magic mind reader. The glasses on the older boy's head are mirrored, which makes it hard to tell who he’s looking at, who’s mind he’s reading. Virgil reaffirms his mental walls as he follows the others inside.

The inside of the townhouse looks pretty much like it hasn’t been used in years. There’s layers of dust on everything. Which Virgil guesses is why Remy’s face screws up when Thomas’s hand lands on his shoulder and guides the older boy towards one of the rooms. Remy shrugs his hand off as soon as he physically can, and then brushes the area on his leather jacket that Thomas had touched, like he could wipe the phantom traces of the man off it.

“Vintage Leather, Babe!” Remy doesn’t quite hiss, but it’s a close thing. “No touching!”

Thomas laughs good naturedly and Remy’s snarl fades a bit back to that condescending look that Virgil always associated with him. Roman sneezes three times in succession, and his eyes start watering and he croaks something about dust being the bane of his existence.

“Pardon me,” Logan says to Thomas, “He will be completely unhelpful until this is cleared up. Scourgify!”

It was frankly impressive. At least, to Virgil it was. Patton always got that excited look on his face when someone did magic, and Roman was too busy sniffling and rubbing his red eyes to really watch. Remy rolled his eyes and Thomas smiled at Logan when he performed the charm that left the previously untouchable room into a cozy living room with plenty of space for the six of them.

“Excellent job, Logan!” Thomas said.

(For a moment Virgil feels like he’s back in class and Logan just won another ten points to his house for being naturally gifted at forcing things to shapeshift.)

Logan blushes at the compliment, so Virgil thinks he’s not alone in the flashback.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s great,” Remy bulldozes the compliment and tosses himself on a length of sofa meant for two people. “Its time for the good gossip, girls!”

“None of us are female presenting--” Logan starts, but Remy rolls his eyes and waves him off. 

“What-everrr! Pat come sit with me, babes!”

Virgil wants to drag Patton far away from Remy, but the older Ravenclaw raises an eyebrow at him like a dare. Virgil counts to four and reminds himself that Remy is part of the Order and Thomas is there and even if he is a legilimens that doesn’t mean that he’s going to read any of their minds. In fact, he’s likely there just because he got bored doing whatever the fuck Thomas has him doing.

Patton jumps on the cushion next to Remy and bounces on the seat like an excited child. Logan opts for a spot on the adjacent couch with Thomas, Roman on the floor like a drama queen who needs to be the center of attention, and Virgil ends up perched on the armrest next to Logan’s elbow where he can easily see both the fireplace and the door to the dusty parlor. 

Thomas is a comforting presence, Virgil thinks as the discussion starts. He had been their professor and he had taught all of them and had been right beside them when they were sworn into the Order. He had never been cagey about this past, being a half blood from Hufflepuff who had been there that day that Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort and witnessed all the fighting first hand. He had joined the Order not long after that final battle by tracking down Headmistress McGonagall and subtly asking if there were any alternative plans for if another dark wizard started raising.

According to Thomas he had gotten the job as a Transfiguration teacher less than a year after that and Virgil really never had the guts to exist in the same room as Headmistress McGonagall long enough to ask her if that was true. 

“Remy?” Logan says, after a lull in the conversation, which Virgil, himself, only realizes because Logan’s elbow slides onto the armrest and its dangerously close to touching Virgil’s thigh.

The other member of the Order takes another moment to respond which makes the hairs on Virgil’s neck raise. Remy’s hand is twisting through Patton’s hair so casually and somehow they ended up with Patton leaning heavily on Remy’s shoulder. Virgil thinks it would be weird for anyone else, but Patton likes to touch and its most likely that Logan and Virgil haven’t been providing enough of those touches recently. Remy’s still wearing those stupid sunglasses even though they are inside and its dark in here, but Virgil knows instinctively that he was reading thoughts. 

Probably. 

“Hmm, doll?” Remy says, “Sorry I zoned out when y’all started getting boring. You know me; I just can’t keep my focus on things when theres a cute boy around!”

Virgil wants to point out that they don’t know him, but Patton meets his gaze and Virgil loses the courage to say anything.

Right, they should be avoiding instigating a fight here.

Regardless Roman spread himself out on the ground and sighs dramatically, “I know what you mean, Rem! All these glor--”

“Remy,” Remy says, peering down his nose at Roman, “Its Remy. Or just don’t address me at all, hun.” 

Virgil thinks the whole room is thrown for a moment. Remy’s tone isn’t necessarily icy or cold, and he’s still grinning when he talks, as if they’re sharing a private joke. He twists one of Patton’s curls so gently, it almost looks intimate. Virgil can see Logan’s jaw shift at the motion, and how Patton seems to be unsure if he should be moving away or staying still.

“S-sorry?” Roman says, unsuredly.

Remy smiles at him, with something that’s borderline unfriendly, “Sure, hun. Now are we done here, or are y’all still doing that small talk thing?”

Thomas shifts in his seat, “Actually there is one more thing I want to let you four know about.”

At once he has all of their attentions. Logan who had been talking the most moves to straighten his tie again, and Roman sits back up so he can see the Professor clearly. The room gets a sort of eerie feeling to it, and Virgil swears for a moment that he can see his breath in the air.

“We’ve gotten some suspicious reports about the Dark Lady and her followers.” Thomas says, “I’ve had some suspicions for a while, but we recently got proof-- thanks to Remy-- that the Dark Lady has a time turner on her.”

“A Time Turner?” Logan says, “I thought all of them had been rendered useless after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries when they were all caught in a time loop?”

“Wait wait wait, we’re saying the lady who wants to legalize casual genocide now has the ability to go back in time?” Roman yelped. “Doesn’t this mean all of our possible plans are useless then?”

"I told you, babe!" Remy sings, boredly, "All it would do is worry the poor things!" He rests his chin on Patton's shoulder, which startles a ticklish giggle from the younger Ravenclaw. 

Thomas ignores him, "We're not sure what the implications are if it yet." He admits, "Headmistress Mcgonagall, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley are all discussing the possibilities of it now. I was told to advise you guys of the situation." Thomas gives them each a look, and then he smiles, "Don't worry too much about it, boys. We'll take it slow and smart and we'll figure this out."

Its a pep talk, Virgil realizes. And in a weird way, Virgil guesses he does feel a little reassured.

In another way Virgil's mind tunnels downward towards the forbidden memories of a Slytherin boy who told him two years ago that the Dark Lady possessed a means to turn back time and what both of them had done about that.

Thomas is looking at him, he notes, suddenly. 

"What?" Virgil asks right as his palms begin to sweat, and his mouth tastes like his black nail polish as he forces his hand away from his mouth.

Thomas frowns, "I...well, I assumed that you would find this information a bit more surprising."

Virgil squeezes the sleeves of his jacket. His jaw creaks open, reminding him pathetically of how tense he was. "Well its like you said," he defends lamely. "We shouldn't worry too much. If the Lady already has a Time Turner, we can't do anything about it now."

Remy is grinning at him. Like the cat that caught the canary and Virgil is the very dead canary in this scenario.

“I’m sure I’ll have a break down later and, you know, over analyze absolutely everything.” Virgil hurriedly says. Which maybe isn’t the best thing to say because now Patton’s staring at him with those wide doe eyes that he makes when he wants to wrap Virgil in a hug. Roman and Logan share a look that shows that maybe they aren’t as convinced, but Thomas nods understandingly and doesn’t push it.

He stands up from the couch and addresses Roman, Logan, and Patton, “I trust you three to keep an eye on him, please? Despite the new news, the Order’s decision so far is to continue work as usual. I’ll be in touch if that changes.”

Logan stands to mirror Thomas and offers his hand. “We’ll do our best.”

Which sounds a little strange to Virgil, because really they weren’t doing much of anything. Thomas had tried talking the four of them into going back to school this year but Roman had gotten antsy about the muggle murders and had dropped out to take care of his parents. Logan and Patton would die before being separated from the Gryffindor, and of course Virgil had followed along with them. 

Thomas had set them up with easy jobs and then sent them magical homework via Owl so they were still learning things although Logan seemed to be the only one who was truly excited about more homework. Its enough for now.

Virgil gathers their brooms while Roman breaks into one of his glorious tales of living life in a Muggle neighborhood, followed by Patton make a pun that makes Thomas laugh and Logan groan. When they finally stumbled outside, it’s nearing ten at night and the stars are out.

“Interesting,” Logan states with his eyes to the stars that were just barely seeable behind the halo of the streetlamps. But before Virgil can ask what exactly Logan is seeing in the stars (he had always been the best as Astronomy), Remy vaults down the steps of the house.

“Hey, Badger-boy!” The older Ravenclaw says. He’s grinning again, in a way that makes Virgil’s skin feel too loose, and his palms too slick from sweat, and his mind sing out every protection spell he knows. In the darkness his sunglasses seem even more impractical, and Virgil is left staring at his own reflection rather the other’s eyes.

“What?” Virgil answers, despite the fact he’s not wearing any of his house’s bright yellow and no one had dared call him a badger since he and Dee had put Alfred Hitchcockopolous in the Hospital wing for a day in First Year for it.

Remy laughs. Its the type of laugh that someone gives when their particularly stupid animal does something stupid and has to face the stupid conseqeunces for it.

“Nothing, babe.” He says. “Just wanted to see your face one last time.” He turns to Patton, and flicks his glasses down just enough that he shows off those golden eyes. “Stay adorable, Freckles.”

Then he flashes a peace sign at them and apperates away.

Thomas sends them on their way, with waving hands and farewells and a promise to see them soon. Roman does helix roll once he’s in the air to show off, and Logan berates him for risking the Muggles seeing them, while Patton laughs like an angel beside them.

Virgil glances back at the ground, ignoring the swoop of his stomach at the height difference, to see Thomas staring at the spot Remy had been last with a frown. As if sensing him, Thomas looks up, gives Virgil an unreadable smile, a wave, and then he too apperates away and the street is empty of all the signs they were ever there.

***

“Well that was fun,” Roman hums landing his broom with utmost ease. With a hand through his windswept hair, he turns that charming smile on the rest of them, which somehow still sparkles despite the lack of actual light. He’s a silhouette, a shadow, a half visible fraction, and yet Virgil has absolutely no trouble seeing the full on Roman-ness of the action.

“We have very different definitions of fun,” Logan notes, and turns Roman’s red robes back to a less offensive beige. Virgil bites back a smile when Roman complains about him being petty and uncreative for someone in Ravenclaw.

And if it starts a lighthearted magic battle in the enclosed backyard, well, there are no muggles out at near eleven in their quiet suburban dream neighborhood. In the flashes of red and purple and blue he can see Logan and Roman grinning like fools and he can feel Patton’s laughter reverberating through him when the other boy leans on his shoulder and watches the two quibble.

Its….happy. Virgil is happy.

Watching them like this, watching them laugh and have fun and enjoy themselves, even after they were just told that the evil force they were combating had the ability to change timestreams. They’re so resilient, so optimistic, and Virgil wishes that he could place some complicated spell on the house right here so that they’d never be disturbed and they could just exist like this happy forever. 

But Virgil knows that Roman would detest being stuck to one place for forever and Logan would run out of things to do and turn bitter and Patton would wonder why they weren’t happy anymore and then come to the conclusion it was somehow his fault.

There’s no way to preserve the happiness forever. Virgil spent all of fourth year combing through the books in the restricted section for a spell that he could cast and he had come up blank.

“The best type of prison,” Dee had said, once upon a time, “is one that the prisoners do not know they’re in.” 

“You really think Prince needs to be aware of a prison to want break out of it?” Virgil had shot back.

And Dee had just laughed and flipped the page of his book.

That had been before he had become a Neo-Death Eater, Virgil thinks. Because he hadn’t been wearing the skull clasp on his robes yet, hadn’t started avoiding Virgil like he had contracted Dragon Pox, hadn’t started actually using the mind magic excessively ….

Virgil’s smile slips, and Patton notices almost immediately. “Kiddo?”

Virgil nudges him with his shoulder, “‘M just tired, you know? Talking to people and all that.”

He feels the Ravenclaw laugh softly. Theres a flash of red where the grass by Logan’s feet catches fire, and the other wastes his turn of their duel using aguamenti to put it out before one of the neighbors look out their windows or it spreads to the deck where Patton and Virgil are and then consumes the entire house.

Roman laughs at him. “My house? Are you sure? Virgil’s put so many charms on that thing nothing short of an atomic bomb is going to bring it down!”

Not true, but Virgil feels himself preen at the compliment anyway. He rubs the back of his neck and knows his face is a flushed pink, but its too dark for anyone to make it out.

“Yeah, sure,” He calls to them, “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to go overthink everything Professor Sanders just told us.”

“Professore Sanders told us--” Logan starts, but Virgil knows that tone all too well and he manages to wave it away.

“I know, I know. Nothing to worry about.” Virgil waves his wand blindly towards the door handle and unlocks it with Alohomora (a spell which only works for one of their four wands). “I’ll see you guys in the morning!”

“Goodnight, Virge!” Patton calls after him, and because he’s a good person he adds, “I’m making french toast tomorrow for breakfast if you want to help!”

“Happy Nightmares, Jack Smellington!” Roman throws in because he’s much less of a good person.

Virgil closes the door behind him. His body leans against it for a second, hearing the sounds of his friends getting back to their shenanigans. He gives it maybe ten minutes before Roman and Patton start up the cheery Hogwarts chants and an impromptu dance routine in which Logan is dragged around the backyard, trying to pretend like he still has dignity.

Its nice. Virgil fumbles through the kitchen, using the light from the magic hall sconces to guide himself down the hall and then up the stairs. The pictures on the walls of the other three laugh and rough house around. Virgil runs his fingers over the picture frames as he walks.

“Get some sleep, kiddo!” One of Patton at a Dragon Petting Zoo from second year tells him.

And Virgil has every intention of it.

He does. 

But he gets to the front of his room and there’s a warmth against his chest that makes his blood freeze. His hand frantically pats his chest, pressing into the warmth, trying to determine if its real or just something in his head, please let it be something in his head, please, please--

Its not in his head. He throws himself into his room and locks it behind him. The lights stay off and he drags the curtains closer together just to make sure that absolutely no one can see inside. Then he crawls into the closet, with his breath coming out in shaky breathes too rapidly to count.

His hands shake too hard to unzip his sweatshirt all the way. It gets jammed by his belly button. The burning against his chest feels like an open flame right to his right pectoral, hissing with heat, demanding to be appeased. Virgil couldn’t have ignored it if he had wanted to. 

He doesn’t want to look.

He looks anyway.

His hand opens the invisible seams of the hidden pocket right over his chest. There are only two items in it, but Virgil drops them both into his lap anyway. He kneads his palms into his eyes and forces himself to take a breath and hold it-- one second, two, three-- which is about as long as it takes for him to remember every lie he’s ever told to the trio outside.

As long as it takes for him to remember whose lives are on the line if he messes up.

As long as it takes for his hands to steady enough to pick up the coin from his lap and for the sudden heat to fade. The closet is doors are firmly pulled closed and Virgil twists his Cypress wand in his hand.

“Lumos,” Virgil whispers scarcely more than a thought. He’s sure that the sound of the dishwasher in the kitchen is louder than his own voice. He’s afraid any louder will make Roman or Logan burst into the room and demand to know what he’s doing and he doesn’t have an explanation, doesn’t have an excuse, doesn’t have an escape.

They’d hate him if they knew.

Virgil hates himself for them.

The coin is a Galleon, but despite the shiny color and the heavy weight, Virgil knows its fake. He made it after all, pouring over the details for most of two days. But it would never stand up to a Goblin; Virgil doubts it would stand up to a normal wizard if they looked for more than a couple seconds at it.

The Protean Charm on it is too strong for it to go unnoticed to a trained eye.

He told the others he collects Galleons with specific dates on them. “A half muggle thing,” He had told Patton who had taken him very seriously and started checking the dates on every coin he came across. Even now, Galleons show up on the kitchen counter with dates of their birthdays and the first day of Hogwarts and the day they would have graduated.

The serial number on the rim of the coin in his hand had changed.

It was a series of four numbers and then various letters that Virgil decoded with a slight glance at-- he had memorized the code and then burned the last key in existence after all, too paranoid to risk someone ever finding it. 

It takes Virgil a second, a moment, a year to understand what date it was. For him to get his brain to work past the dread that bubbling up his throat like a bottle rocket. 

And his breath gets caught in his chest when he does.

It’s tomorrows date.

Its tomorrows date and there’s no time to warn anyone without revealing his source.

Its tomorrows date and someone in the Order is going to die.

Virgil does not have a good night, or happy nightmares, and he most definitely does not sleep at all.

***

“You look like death,” Roman says the next morning when Virgil slumps on the stool at the kitchen counter. Virgil can smell his cinnamon body wash from clear across the kitchen which is entirely unhelpful in the light of things because now he’s thinking about Roman in the shower after his morning run and when there are other things to be thinking about. 

“Gee, thanks Princey,” Virgil says very tiredly.

Patton is cooking bacon to go with the French toast. It’s sizzling. Does all bacon sizzle so loud? It smells so good Virgil might throw up. His stomach feels empty, but the thought of actually chewing and swallowing food makes head dizzy. 

“-rgil, Virgil!” 

Virgil blinks for a second, glancing up from the bacon to see that Logan had somehow appeared next to him.

“You do not appear to have slept at all, Virgil,” Logan says thoughtfully. “If it is about the Dark Lady, I can assure you--”

“It’s not,” Virgil says, which sounds like a lie even to him. 

Patton, Logan, and Roman all share a look. A silent conversation that Virgil feels unnecessarily annoyed to be excluded from.

“What?” He snaps.

“No offense, Helga Hufflegruff,” Roman says, “But its not like you to be this out of it.”

Virgil flicks his wand at the coffee mugs across the kitchen, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Kiddo,” Patton says.

“The eggs are burning,” Virgil waves him off. And for a moment it works on taking the attention of him. He takes all of one breath, while Patton squeaks over the breakfast and Roman and Logan watch on ready to jump in and help before the fire alarms go off. But the moment passes and he feels the suffocating gaze of his housemates on him again.

Granted he did look awful. The picture of both him and Patton which had taken residency on his desk had winced when Virgil had stumbled from the closet. There’s a crick in his neck that he can’t get rid off no matter how much he rotates his head and his eyes feel heavier than they have any right to be. Screw his eyeshadow, he hadn’t even put any on today.

He was still in his clothes from yesterday, and he was careful to keep his left hand in his pocket or his sleeve, because he had bitten his nails until they bled last night, though if anyone asks he’ll tell them the morning paper Owl had bitten him when he had forgotten to pay it.

“We should do something today,” Virgil says suddenly.

Which is not the right thing to say. At all.

Roman chokes on his orange juice, and ends up spilling more on the floor than he gets in his throat. Patton nearly drops his hot pan in the sink with how quickly he whips around to stare at Virgil.

Logan adjusts his glasses, “Pardon?”

“Are you sick?” Roman blurts out, rasping as he tries to dislodge the last of the juice, “Is it Dragon Pox? Scrofungus? Heartbreak?”

“Heartbreak isn’t a sickness,” Virgil squints at him.

“Additionally how would one’s heart break?” Logan asks, “Unless it was frozen with Glacius by some means--”

“People can die from Heartbreak!” Roman interjects, despite the fact no one suggested anything about dying. Virgil’s stomach churns around and the coffee on his tongue tastes stale at the thought.

“I’m not dying!” He says quickly, hotly. His fingers squeeze his mug tightly, drawing the warmth from the liquid inside it and hoping it covers the coldness that came over him.

“Yes, it seems much more likely that he was affected by the imperious curse,” Logan suggests.

“I’m not under any curse either!” Virgil hisses, “I just… I thought--” He grits his teeth, “I thought it might be nice to get out of the house.”

Entirely. And never come back.

“You never want to get out of the house,” Roman points out.

“Well I do now!”

Logan does that thing he does when he doesn’t believe something-- a mix of tilting his head and tapping his fingers on the nearest surface while his eyes rotate around the surroundings. Virgil likes to think it was a subconscious reaction: he’s actually observing the room for threats so that he could produce a working solution.

Roman summons more orange juice from the fridge and makes it pour him another glass.

Virgil twists his mug in his fingers and chances a look towards Patton. He spent most of the night trying to figure out what to do, trying to figure out what to say, what he could say. He thinks that he turned over every scenario ten times and fought off the nauseous urge to vomit all through the fourth hour that morning.

He thinks that if he can just get Patton to say yes.

He thinks if he can just get Patton to leave the house that he'll be able to keep all of them safe if the attack is at their location.

(Because that's in question too. Its possible that by some blessed fate that the dread and certainty in his stomach does not mean its going to be here thats attacked. Its possible that he's just paranoid. Its possible that when Professor Remus Duke told him he had a natural latent ability for Divination that the teacher was just spouting nonsense like usual. Its possible.)

((Virgil doesn't take chances like that. He won't. Cant.))

"Virge…" Patton says.

Logan adjusts his glasses, "Thomas told us that work should continue as normal. As such, I have several letters I must attend to-- a group in Romania is requesting the Orders help in tracking several suspicious individuals, a wizard in America got apprehended by MACUSA without proper papers, and Thomas asked me to make a list of where a certain wizarding plant can be found and I've received a pile of responses just this morning I have to comb through-- I can't just drop these tasks. Patton has already agreed to help me."

"What?" Roman says, "Why didn't you ask me?"

"I'm afraid that the thought didn't cross my mind," the Ravenclaw admitted somewhat guiltily. "But Patton has a superior knowledge of the wizarding world that I believe would be most beneficial, and-- I mean this with the least amount of offense-- I feel that if you or Virgil were to join us, we'd be more hindered than helped."

"Ouch," Roman says with wounded pride, and jabs Logan in the shoulder. "I cannot believe you think I'd be bad at answering letters! My handwriting is amazing."

"The chicken scratch you call handwriting is atrocious." Logan bats his hand away easily, "but that's not why I think you helping would be counterproductive."

“Its not?” Roman asks.

“Its not?” Virgil echoes with just enough of a teasing tone that Roman turns his coffee mug into a chicken like the disrupting asshole he is. The bird squawks the second its lungs are formed and Virgil drops it the moment the warmth turns from “warm liquid in a mug” to “living thing with a heartbeat he can feel”.

“Roman!” Logan yells, stumbling back to avoid it and crashing into Patton. They both land on the floor in a heap of limbs and cooking utensils. The chicken flaps over them, screeching something awful. Patton’s glasses somehow end up hooked with Logan’s and their faces mere inches apart and brown chicken under feathers in both their hair.

Roman’s laughter almost makes it worth it: breathless and gasping for air, doubled over and wheezing like an idiot.

It only takes a moment before Patton’s laughter joins in with Roman’s, very much sounding like the usual angels on high. Virgil watches the glorious sight of Logan’s entire face turning redder than an Hippocampus skin and immediately transforming himself into in an owl.

Virgil can’t really blame him. If he were hit at point blank by both Roman and Patton’s carefree laughs like that, he’d turn into an Owl too, regardless of if an Owl was his animagus form or not.

It takes Patton three times to turn the chicken back to a mug-- missing twice because he’s laughing too hard to keep his wand from shaking, and once because the chicken is fast-- and by that time Roman’s on the floor with a hand gripping his chest, grin wider than the fucking sun itself, feathers on clinging to his clothes and his shirt riding up his stomach just enough to be a tease. Logan transforms back long enough to move the cup from the floor to the sink, but when he turns around to see the Gryffindor, his cheeks flare back up and Virgil can feel the heat from where he is.

The bacon definitely burns.

Virgil doesn’t really think any of them notice.

He doesn’t even notice until the fire alarm goes off.

Roman groans from the floor and Virgil coughs into his sweatshirt sleeve to hide his face. A sound like that? Even with the background of a shrill alarm and the smell of smoke, it makes the room itself feel hundreds of degrees warmer, makes the whole world seem to fade away, makes Virgil want to plunge his face into a bucket of ice water.

Logan hits the smoke detector with his beak. Patton throws open the kitchen windows, giggling foolishly.

“You’re cute when you blush, Vee,” Roman says from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck off and die,” Virgil tells him.

“Aw, but your little ears!” Roman cooes, dragging himself from the floor like it was some tremendous task. He pinches the air with both his hands like he was supposed to be pinching Virgil’s ears.

Virgil’s hands immediately switch position, covering the tattletale tips of his ears. “Shut up!” He grumbles.

“Not exactly my forte, Virge!” Roman sings, “Just ask anyone!”

Logan does that thing where he lands on a surface and turns back to human, and Virgil gets a front row seat of seeing Owl talons elongate into slender legs that cross ever so confidently as he settles on the barstool next to Virgil. And the way that Logan ever so casually reaches up to loosen his tie just a millimeter?

If Virgil wasn’t blushing before, is now.

(He thinks he likes this version of Logan Ackroyd more: the effortlessly oblivious tease, compared to the bloody knuckled version that so angrily put Virgil in his place in the middle fourth year)

“I can attest to that,” Logan says, with the crease in the corners of his lips that implies a smile being hidden just below the surface, “He really does never shut up.”

“Wh--hey!” Roman gasps,”Patton! Logan’s bullying me!” He drapes himself over the smaller Ravenclaw with a dramatic flare that causes Patton’s whole face to light up. Sunlight bounces off his glasses but his eyes sparkle like the ocean on a sunny day.

“Sorry kiddo!” He says, “That’s just how he is!”

“Falsehood!” Logan calls.

“Losing battle,” Virgil nudges him. Oh god, what just came over him? His elbow feels tingly, like some sort of numbing jinx, but warm and welcome. Logan actually laughs as he straightens himself back on the chair.

(Logan laughs like he’s in a library about to be scolded for being too loud. Virgil isn’t sure what it would take for him to laugh louder. He wishes he had time to figure it out.)

Breakfast comes after that. With Patton severing french toast and Roman spilling orange juice on Logan's plate because the Ravenclaw told him he was putting far too much syrup on his and Virgil convincing Roman to shove an entire piece in his mouth just to prove that he could.

"Really attractive, Princey," Virgil says when the Gryffindor chokes and has to spit out soggy mush.

"You love me," Roman coughs.

"Yeah," Virgil says. It's a mostly meaningless statement. Because Roman thinks everything loves him, because Roman is very loveable, because it's light and witty banter and that's what they do.

Because Virgil’s thinking about the coin in the pocket on his chest, because Virgil is thinking how likely it was for him to be able to pry both Logan and Patton out of the house without a real reason, because Virgil is weighing his friends lives in his head like its just another sucky Arithmancy problem on the homework he put off until an hour before it was due.

And because Virgil is not really thinking about what comes out of his mouth, it comes out honest and true and it takes him three more blinks to realize that Roman is staring at him, with something like akin to...to...surprise?

“What?” Virgil asks, his breath hitching all of a sudden. He was tired but he wasn’t so tired that he could have started just talking out loud-- and even if he had surprise was not the thing that Roman would have on his face. Disgust, maybe. Anger, definitely. What kind of person can look at the people sitting next to him and think about how likely it was for someone on the street to kill them? How could he think about blood purity at a time like this?

But then again how could he not?

“You agreed,” Roman says, a tinge of awe.

“What?” Virgil tries again, because he really doesn’t know what is going on. Logan and Patton are staring at him too, but Patton’s smiling and Logan’s rolling his eyes and they’re tugging Logan’s plate between them in a silent argument of who gets to do the dishes.

“You agreed! About liking me!” Roman says down right giddy.

Virgil’s brow furrows, “Princey, we literally live together. Of course I like you.”

“But you said Love!”

Virgil glances at Patton for help. Patton is enchanting a sponge to wash the cups and is therefore, no help. His stomach does a flop. A flip flop. A flip flop right off a fucking cliff top.

Roman’s face appears right next to his, earnest and full and bright. Virgil thinks its like standing at ground zero of an atomic bomb.

“You never say Love. And I think if I remember correctly the last time you implied you even liked me, it was when Logan tried to cook and you got food poisoning and I gave you a bucket to throw up in.” Roman says. “So this is a big thing!”

Virgil should tell him its nothing, because even with his heart threatening to jump straight out of his chest, and his hands aching to curl in the fluff of his russet hair, and his eyes darting to Roman’s lips which for some reason are still right there next to Virgil’s own-- because even with Virgil thinking of that night years ago when Logan had given him a righteous nosebleed and he had run off and hid behind the One-Eyed Witch Statue on the third floor and had the biggest gay breakdown of his entire life--

Virgil should tell him its nothing because he’s been lying to Roman and Patton and Logan for two years, nearly three.

Virgil should give Roman’s face a shove away and make some insulting comment that will draw out those offended dramatic noises he likes so much.

Virgil should.

“I guess,” Virgil tongue warps around the words without an ounce of his permission. “Don’t go--”

“YES!” Roman hollers over him, throwing his hands in the air so suddenly that Virgil legitimately forgets what he was saying. “This is perfect! Amazing! Splendid!”

Virgil should tell him to calm down, that it means less than nothing. But Virgil threw away his entire life for them: for Roman’s celebratory fist pumping and sparkling eyes, for the quirk of Logan’s lips and the late night sleepy talks about the stars, for the taste of Patton’s baking and the feel of those tight, warm, safe hugs. He wants to dance around the word “Love” and its billions of meanings in billions of languages, because he knows that if he thinks about it for too long, he’ll realize that he loves the three of them in every sense of it.

Which, decidedly, means much more than nothing.

But there’s also that thing.

That thing where Virgil is lying, has been lying, will continue to lie, right to their faces. Which stands to be the absolute worst thing he’s ever done and if he stops it he’ll die a horrible painful wizard death and then they’ll be doubly angry with him for it. 

But isn’t angry with him-- isn’t never wanting to see his face ever again-- better than them being dead? Which is likely what they’re all going to be if Virgil doesn’t do something to convince them to leave the house for the day.

Them, he thinks and then hesitates because its not really “Them”. Patton’s got magical blood: blood so pure it practically glows under his skin and his wandwork is practically flawless. Logan’s got half magic blood, too, which is half more magic blood than sad little muggleborn Roman has. 

The anxious feeling of dread creeps up Virgil’s back, like a dementors fingers ghosting along his spine before it spins him around and gives a soul sucking kiss. Once the thought comes he can’t get it out of his head: the idea that if the Neo-Death Eaters show up here, and they breech the defenses that Virgil’s put up, and they catch them by surprise, the idea that they’d hesitate to hurt Patton or Logan or Virgil, but they’d execute Roman without a thought.

Virgil is staring at Roman.

Virgil is listening to Roman talk about something.

Virgil is thinking about Roman’s corpse lying on the ground in the kitchen, as a green light steals away his life in an echo of two forbidden words.

“Hey Princey,” Virgil says, trying to hide the way his entire body is shaking. “Let’s go on a date.”

Because Roman being angry at him, being unable to ever forgive him, being so enraged he can’t think about Virgil without wanting to put him in St. Mungos, will always be better than Roman being dead and Virgil having not done anything about it.

Roman looks at him and he smiles so prettily Virgil almost thinks he’d be able to forgive himself one day.

***

Virgil has never been on a date before. 

It’s tragic. Embarrassingly so.

If Virgil were watching this broomwreck from the outside, he’d been on the floor in tears from laughter.

Roman bumps his shoulder casually, “Relax, Felbert the Fearful! There are no roofs around to cave in on us.”

The joke doesn’t quite land for Virgil, but he laughs anyway. Roman deserves it, at least.

For putting up with Virgil not knowing the first thing about that how one proceeds on a “date”. He thinks he watched a Hallmark movie on this shit once or twice back before...everything. He thinks that it should have given him some clue how to act, what to say, where to go. But all they do it remind him how completely and utterly bootless he is in the grand scheme of things.

Disney, of course, never really taught the whole “take it slow” sort of thing. And with magic? Forget it. He wonders how Patton’s parents did it, how the famous Weasley’s did it, how any wizard ever did it.

(He supposes that it helped that in most cases that neither partner was hiding a double life behind a cloak of fake memories implanted in the other, but really what did he know.)

They had gone shopping. Kinda.

Roman had gone shopping. Virgil had watched him try on muggle clothes again and again, listened to him complain about prices, and testily remark about color coordinating. He tried paying the girl at the cash register in sickles and Virgil got a good laugh at his face when he realized his mistake. He tried on two T shirts just it looked like he was participating his fair share even bought one, but once it was in the bag he forgot what the design had been.

(He did not forget the way that Roman’s eyes had roamed over him and the way that he had mentioned how nice it would be to see that shirt on his floor.)

Virgil wished his heart was in it, wished that he could get his shoulders to unwind, wished that he could stare at Roman for a few minutes without thinking about what an awful person he was.

They have Ice cream for lunch specifically because Logan is not there to tell them not to. 

It devolves to Virgil splattering Roman’s nose with Chocolate ice cream and only getting half an apology out before Roman shovels a spoonful of strawberry into his mouth. Like a kiss. Indirectly.

Virgil wonders for all of three seconds if Roman’s tongue also tastes like strawberry.

“There’s a music store,” Roman says. “It just opened around the block. I’m sure it has some PG music for you to listen to, Edgelord.”

They hold hands. Virgil can’t tell if Roman can feel him shaking, or if he notices how distracted Virgil in worrying about something he won’t share. The music store is so muggle-like its distressing.

Virgil loves it. The musty smell of the building despite it being brand new, the feel of actual records in his hands, the beats in the background that his head bops unconsciously. Roman makes comments about the artwork on every cover that Virgil flits through, which is impressive because Virgil isn’t even looking as much as pretending to.

Its hard for him to be excited about an album of music when his friends could be in danger.

Its hard to remind himself why he needs to draw out this date as long as he possibly can to make sure that Roman doesn’t go back to the house. 

They catch a movie at the local theater. Virgil doesn’t remember the plot at all because Roman throws an arm over his shoulder halfway through it. Its dark, mostly silent, and Roman smells like cinnamon and ash that somehow is very attractive on him. Virgil leans in, selfishly enjoying the warmth that comes with it.

Virgil’s eyes...close just for a second.

Only a second.

“Hey, Vee,” Roman says, “Maybe we should head home?”

“No!” Virgil snaps awake so suddenly their heads collide. “Ow! Fuck!”

Roman’s pained laughter joins him. The lights are on, now so Virgil must have slept straight through the credits. He wants to curse himself for that one. What if something had happened? What if a Neo Death Eater had tracked them all the way to the theater and crept in during the show?

The ache in his head subsides to a mild annoyance that makes his eyes water. 

“Okay, wow, ow,” Roman says, “If I knew you were gonna wake like that, Stormcloud, I would have done something else!”

Virgil freezes. “What did you just call me?”

Roman blinks a couple times, “Stormcloud? Is that alright? I figured it might be nice to, uh, have a nickname that’s not an insult.” He sounds strangely hesitant, strangely unconfident, strangely not-Roman like.

“Its...fine,” Virgil says and pretends like the name doesn’t strike half a million chords in him. “Totally fine.”

Roman hums like he isn’t convinced. “Yeah well, we should get back to the house. I’m sure, Pat is making dinner.”

“Uhh!” Virgil says, “Or we could not!”

The Gryffindor raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I just, I mean--” Virgil’s not good at excuses. 

“Vee, you literally just fell asleep on my arm in the middle of an action movie. You’ve been unable to focus all day. I have half a mind to think that you only wanted to do this because you’re so sleep deprived that you can’t think straight.”

Virgil doesn’t have anything to say to that. There’s a stain on Roman’s shoulder from where he had been drooling. Roman presses their foreheads together and they both wince where the lumps collide.

“Listen,” Roman says, “I love spending time with you. How about we go back to the house, and throw on a movie and just...cuddle or something?”

Its not fair.

Virgil wants it so badly as whimper builds in his throat. But he doesn’t want to chance it, doesn’t want to risk it, doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t.

Roman leads him out the door. 

Its dark outside. Its still not dark enough. The town isn’t far enough from their house, and the longer Virgil is silent the closer they get back to the house. His hands twist in his pockets, his nail rubs over the engravings in his wand.

He needs something, anything, to catch Roman’s attention. Keep him away from the house until the days over and he’s sure there’s no chance that the Neo-Wizard Nazis are going to show up and kill Roman. 

“We should stop at the bookstore and pick up Logan’s order for him,” Virgil suggests.

“Logan just picked up his newest shipment two days ago, remember?” Roman says. “I dropped them and he yelled at me for a full hour.”

“Do we have milk at the house? Maybe we should get some groceries while we’re out.”

“Patton wants to go tomorrow instead. And only he knows the list. But he’ll love if we come with him.”

“A play!” Virgil says weakly.

“Hm?” Roman blinks lazily from beside him. The street lamps give him halo.

“I heard there’s a play going on!”

“There are no plays this week, Virgil.”

“I swear there was one.” Virgil says, “You know we should check just in case--”

Virgil has seen the news on the TV before: he’s seen coverage of car crashes that had lit on fire, of the forests burning in California and the Amazon, of muggle apartment buildings being swallowed entirely from faulty wiring. He’s kept a lighter in his back pocket for the longest time, for emergencies, for those moments when his wand is out his hand and needs to resort to a more unexpected muggle way of defending himself. He’s started tiny fires made of leaves in his backyard, of candles in his moms house when the summer rain storms knocked out the electricity again, of a pile of photos at his feet wiping away any evidence that would allude to what they had done.

Still watching Roman’s house explode is so much more terrifying. The blast of heat burns his body even from down the street. The noise is deafening, but the sight is ghastly: the roof of the building shoots straight into the air and then dissolves apart until its swallowed by the resulting black cloud, the windows break outward sending millions of shards into the surrounding houses, half of that ugly sofa that Virgil had fallen asleep so many times on shattered on the asphalt road barely four feet from the two of them.

Oh, its something straight from a nightmare and it makes Virgil’s stomach violently turnover and his eyes water and his heart jump straight up his throat to the back of his mouth. His limbs freeze at the sight, as if keeping from moving would keep the destruction from following. Flames lick the the inside windows, a thousand twisted toxic tongues that burned brighter than the sun in the night sky. 

In seconds the building is unsalvageable and Virgil’s throat closes up like someone magicked away the very oxygen in the air. 

“Virgil!” Roman yells some a million miles away from him, from right behind him, from beside him with a hand on his upper arm, tight and squeezing and real. “Protego!”

A white shield forms in front of him seconds before a chunk of the TV in the downstairs living room crushes him completely. An arm, Roman’s arm, wraps around him and drags him back from the flaming wreckage.

“Logan!” Roman screams, “Pat!”

And suddenly Virgil snaps back to the present, to the way the noise is louder than life, to the way that they stick out like sore thumbs in the middle of the road. 

“Aguamenti!” Virgil shouts pointing his wand at the the neighbors hedges. He doesn’t remember drawing it or thinking about the spell, but he knows that the family of four that live there just hit a rough patch financially and don’t need to pay for a house on top of that.

By the time he looks back up, Roman is down the street and Virgil doesn’t think there’s a single thing on this planet, magic or muggle that could stop him. So Virgil, the reigning king of making poor decisions in the moment, charges after him.

(Because he knows what this is, know that houses don’t just explode, knows that Roman is about to charge head into battle. He knows that Virgil would never forgive himself from turning tail and running when any of those three are in danger.)

So Virgil-- also reigning king of mistakes and regrets--charges after him with is wand drawn and prays to deities he does not believe in that he won’t see Dee tonight.

There are three Neo-Death Eaters on what used to be Roman’s front lawn. Virgil stumbles at the sight of them, at the sight of their long black cloaks and white theater masks and the skull pendants they wore so proudly. He doesn’t think they can be more than a few years older than him or Roman, but they find another section of the house to use Bombarda on and shriek joyfully when it sends part of dresser into the next door neighbors roof.

Roman makes use of Flipendo Tria on the first one, and clocks the next with his bare fist. Virgil uses Oppugno on several flaming objects (shirts maybe? Logan’s sweater vests?) and sends them wrapping around the face of the last one before she can make any move against Roman. 

“How dare you touch me, Filthy Mudblood!”

Roman punched him again. And then a third time for good measure.

“I may be muggle born, but I’ve never needed magic to fix my problems.”

It would be a good dramatic line if he wasn’t trembling as he delivered it, if Virgil didn’t need to throw protego between him and the guy he had punched because the Neo-Death Eater had managed to get his wand again, if they were acting in a movie this wasn’t real.

Roman snaps the guy’s wand in half and throws it into the fire before sprinting towards the front door.

“Patton!” He yells, “Logan!”

“Roman!” Virgil yells and lunges for him. They go tumbling to the ground, knees scraping on concrete pathway up to the house but Virgil doesn’t notice. He can’t notice, not really. 

He’s too busy imagining Roman as a flambeed corpse, as a crispy unrecognizable mass, as ashes fluttering in the wind.

Roman shoves against him, frantically calling for their friends.

And the smoke robs his throat of any moisture, clogs his lungs with lead laden gases and deteriorates his vision. There’s another explosion (Virgil thinks its the fire reaching the chemical closet in the downstairs powder room) and the force of it knocks Virgil across the lawn. His shoulder slams into the grass with a popping noise Virgil is pretty sure it isn’t supposed to make and his vision goes white for all of a second as his chest flops over and his other shoulder follows in a tumble of limbs. 

When he can see again Roman is right over him. He’s glowing-- kinda. The fire behind him creates a halo effect all over his body. Whatever words he’s saying, they’re lost in the buzz of Virgil’s brain as it reconnects and reboots and the panic comes back.

In the grass by his hand is a burned photo: the one of him and Patton that they took on the staircase, the one he put in his room, the one he kept.

And the fire burned him right out of the picture.

“--irgil!” Roman says, “We have to get up!”

Virgil nods dumbly at him. He tears his eyes away from the picture and grabs Roman’s forearm so he can help him get up. He smells like smoke and ashes and that Cinnamon body wash he liked so much. Virgil breathes it in and chokes on the air.

“We need to get out of here!” He says, “To the Rendezvous point! They’ll find us!”

Virgil isn’t sure Roman hears him at all, isn’t sure that Roman even remembers that they had a rendezvous point for if the base was attacked. But he doesn’t try to go running into the unsalvageable house again, so Virgil thinks that its enough.

(He doesn’t think about Patton on the kitchen floor desperately gasping for raspy breaths pinned under a flaming beam of the house and unable to move. He doesn’t think about Logan screaming as the flames swallow up his pant legs, and his sweater vest and his hair. He doesn’t think about them yelling for them and Virgil dragging Roman away from the fire and leaving them to die. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t--)

Away. They need to get away. Before a Neo-Death Eater shows up that they can’t beat.

Down the street. Virgil’s eyes are watering, his heart is thumping, his thoughts are screaming.

Somehow he still manages to see the enemy before they see him.

Its just that Virgil has absolutely terrible luck. It’s just that the shock makes him forget  Its just that Virgil freezes with half of a hex on his tongue, when his eyes catch on the other figure. Or more specifically, his wand.

Virgil doesnt know a lot about wands, but he thinks he knows more than average. Patton always did have a habit of rambling about his hobbies and wand making happened to be on that list. But even before that, Virgil would know that wand blindfolded: Elm, nine inches, with a rougarou hair core.

And he'd know it by the way it never quite looked like it fit in the hands of its owner.

Said owner, who was staring at him like he was the biggest idiot to ever grace the earth, someone who had been hit with confundgus until he couldnt remember his own name, someone who for some absolutely idiotic reason, decided not to curse a Death Eater the moment he saw one holding a wand at him.

"Virgil!"

Virgil feels the spell blast by him, missing his ear by mere inches. The Death Eater is almost as lucky: the spell hits the black Honda Civic behind him and explodes outward. The Death Eater is launched back towards them rolling across the asphalt, but his cloak took most of the damage.

“Confringo!” Roman shouts again, and another blast of a spell goes out.

"Protego!" The Neo-Death Eater counters and for a moment Virgil doesn't see the shield go up, doesn't see a way for him to escape the spell. 

Virgil grabs at Roman's arm, because it's the only thing he can think to do, and the last half of the flame veer to the side just enough that the enemy can scramble to his feet behind his shield.

"What are you--" Roman snaps, fiery and hot, and demanding of Virgil.

"Adorable!" The Neo-Death Eater cooes at them, "You actually thought those flames could hurt me?"

Virgil feels feverish just hearing that voice. Its a slippery eel of a tone, something sinister and mocking and Virgil knows it too well. So does Roman. So does everyone.

Its the voice he uses when he's scheming, when he's hiding something and wants you to know it, when he's got the upper hand in a conversation.

Its the voice that is undeniably Dee’s, and no one else's.

“Ekans,” Roman growled.

“Guilty as Charged, Prince,” Dee Ekans smiles like snake oil and mistrust, “I take it you saw the Fireworks? They were a bit disappointing for my taste, but then again all things muggle usually are.”

“Sectumsempra!” 

Virgil mouth tastes like ash. Roman’s wand slices the air like a sword, like a knife, like death, and the green spell flies towards Dee faster than Virgil can react. (He knows what that spell does: they’ve all heard the rumors around Hogwarts of the Potions teacher that created a curse that killed from bloodloss, they’ve all heard how it can’t be cured and how Severus Snape took the countercurse with him to the grave--)

Dee throws himself to the side. He’s not smiling anymore, not when the spell shreds the flaming car behind them. His hand moves to the side of his face, the left side of his face, where some part of the magic had skimmed him and left a precise line that welded with cherry red.

Roman raises his wand again, and this time Virgil leaps in front of him. 

“Virgil!”

“Patton, Logan,” Virgil gasps out but he cant remember when he stopped being able to breathe. The world threatens to start swimming so he grabs Roman by the forearms to steady himself. “Patton and Logan.”

Dee hisses violently, “Don’t worry about your blood traitor, Little Raccoon. My father invited him for a stay and when he leaves I’m sure he’ll want nothing to do with you.”

Virgil squeezes Roman’s wrists, but Dee’s face is too proud to be lying about this one.

“Be more worried about the owl.” Dee’s grin came back, a blinding white in the fire of around them. “Last I checked only one wing had been broken, but Mother does move very fast.”

Roman roars and lunges forward, but Dee presses his bloodied fingers to his lips and blows them both a kiss. By the time Roman gets around Virgil, gets close enough to grab the Neo-Death Eater that is Dee Ekans, the Slytherin had twisted up in his cloak and disapparated into a black cloud of smoke. 

Virgil wants to throw up. Distantly he’s aware that there are sirens ringing, and he knows that means that Muggles are on the way.

He should be terrified, but all he can feel is relief. Patton is alive, Dee had said so. He was full wizard, a pureblood, from a pureblood family. He was alive for now.

Virgil grabs Roman by the back of his shirt, “We have to go.”

Roman slaps his hand away, “Why did you do that?!” The flames dance behind him, giving him wings of fire. Somehow his breath his hotter than them. “Why did you stop me from killing him?!”

“We have to go, Roman.” Virgil ignores him, “Logan needs us.”

“Ekans deserves to die!”

“Roman!” Virgil yells, “It’s time to go,” He tugs him towards the end of the road, “I’ll explain later.”

“No!” Roman slaps him away again, “You’ll explain right now! I’m so sick and tired of not knowing what the hell is going on in your brain! Why did you stop me from hitting him? He’s the bad guy, Virgil!” 

“We don’t have time for this!” Virgil says he grabs on to Roman again, yanks him towards the end of the street. Roman fights him every step of the way, smelling like ashes and cinders and charcoal.

“Answer me!”

“You are no good to anyone in wizard jail, Prince!” Virgil snarls back.

“Bullshit!”

Virgil wants to take a swing at him, wants to yank his wand out and litter him so full of spells that he can’t move a muscle until Virgil finds Logan and gets all three of them somewhere safe, wants to cup Roman’s jaw and tell him everything between rough lip-biting kisses.

“You’re always doing shit like this!”

Virgil doesn’t do any of those things. He drags both of them into the community park and the wooden area beyond that. The heat between them blisters his fingers, stinging and burning and telling Virgil that its not worth it. But Virgil is a Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuffs are a loyal sort of people. And really that is Virgil’s biggest flaw.

“Running off, being secretive, pretending to be happy when you obviously aren’t--”

Roman gets a hand under Virgil jaw and shoves him up, up, and away. Virgil hits the ground with this tongue between his teeth and tears threatening in his eyes. 

“Roman!” He snaps, spitting blood from his mouth.

“Whose side are you on?”

Virgil’s body freezes.

Roman stands over him, moonlight shadows painting his face. His wand twists in his hand. He’s always been dangerous, Virgil remembers suddenly, with the effortless magic in his veins and the endless spell knowledge in his head and the whimsical creativity in his words.

“Virgil,” Roman says breathless, and he looks angry. Rightfully so. “The only one of us who would have both the information and the opportunity to give our location to the Death Eaters, is you.”

“What? Why would I--”

“You wanted me out of the house.” Roman says in an accusatory tone that makes Virgil’s blood slow in his veins. “You wanted me--the most powerful of us-- out of the head quarters, for a day of activities you weren’t even enjoying, and on that same day my house is blown up.”

Virgil scrambles to his feet, but he still feels off balanced, “It’s not like that--”

“Isn’t it?” he hisses, “You pestered us all last week about what charms were set up around the house! You said you were adding more! How do we know you didn’t take some off?”

“Because I didn’t!”

“You’re a master at Charms.” Roman snarls, “It would have been a sinch!”

And Virgil doesn’t know what to say to that. His hand slips into his jacket pockets, just barely resisting the urge to go for the hidden pouch over his chest that’s numbly cold--

Roman shoves his wand at him. “No! Hands out of your pockets, Storm.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” Roman said, stepping around him, like he’s some dangerous wild animal and Roman is the hunter come to put him down before he hurts another innocent person. “Did you or did you not give information to the Death Eaters? Did you tell them our location so they could kill us?”

“Roman!” Virgil takes a step back, his hands come out of his pocket and he starts wondering if maybe he should have been reaching for his own wand, after all. 

Roman looks angry; he looks like the fire that had eaten up his house. His hold on his wand is so tight, Virgil can see the red oak wood threatening to split. Small sparks dance at the edge reacting to Roman’s anger. No muggles would be out here in the woods, and the neo Death Eaters should still be dancing around the bonfire of the house. The only person who would come was possibly Logan, and they didn’t-- Logan wasn’t-- 

There was no one to stand between them, or direct attention away. For all intents and purposes they were alone in the world.

“That date was just a ploy,” Roman growls, “A ploy that I fell for!”

“No!” Virgil wants to list all the reasons why it wasn’t just a ploy.

But that of course isn’t the problem here. The problem is that it was a ploy in the first place. It was a ploy that Virgil made and took advantage of Roman to get him to follow in it.

Virgil tongue feels swollen, and he isn’t thinking. He knows he isn’t thinking. Because the next thing out of his mouth is the biggest mistake he’s ever made: “When have I ever done something to purposely harm you guys?”

 “I don’t know, maybe every single school year up until fourth year--”

Roman stops. 

Blinks.

“Every single school year up until…” He repeats, and Virgil feels the cannonball of dread in his stomach swell until shoves its way up through his lungs and up his throat. 

He’s imagined the way it happens a million times. Each one worse than the last, each one dangerous and bad and terrifying. Still the sight of Roman’s copper eyes turning purple and the light that drifts off him like an angelic aura is worse than all of them. Its his nightmares, come to life, and it’s staring at him with a murderous expression.

“Roman?” Virgil whispers, and maybe there’s a faint hope there that he’s wrong and the spell over him hasn’t broken and Virgil hasn’t lost the only thing he’s had for the past two years. 

“These are false memories,” Roman says. It feels like a slap in the face. “Why are there false memories in my head?”

Virgil’s mind tells him to run, and to run fast, but his body doesn’t move an inch. Not even to breathe. Roman had effortlessly used Sectumsempra against Dee, and Virgil is weaponless against him. He needs to get out of there, before either of them do something they’re going to regret. 

But at that moment there a sound of something tumbling through the branches above them, and Virgil looks up out of instinct. 

Its an owl, and it looks like it hell. Virgil lunges to catch it before it hits the ground, because even in the moonlight he’d know that white and brown and black pattern anywhere. 

“Logan!” Virgil calls, slightly more than horrified because he’s no owl expert but he’s pretty sure owls wings aren’t supposed to do that. There’s blood too. Virgil doesn’t know what to do with blood like this. “Roman! Roman I need--”

He stops when he sees the the other hasn’t lowered his wand. “Roman?”

“Avada--”

Virgil doesn’t hear the end of it. All he sees is the green light and then… 

And then there’s just darkness.

***

Dee had told him on the first Train Ride to Hogwarts about the Sorting Hat. 

“It uses Leg-ili-men-cy,” Dee had said holding up identical Chocolate Frog Cards with Salazar Slytherin on it “Thats a type of magic. It reads your thoughts and figures out where you’d best fit.”

Virgil had been so happy to be a Hufflepuff. He had never thought it was going to end up being a death sentence. 

***

“-nnervate.”

Virgil blinks his eyes open groggily. His whole head feels a bit like it was stuffed with tissues, like that Christmas that he spent sick out of his mind and Dee had shown up in the fireplace with more pumpkin pasties than he could carry and sugared butterfly wings for his mom, like that time they had hung out over the summer when Dee had wanted to practice for his position as Beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team and Virgil had dragged out his old baseball supplies only have Dee accidently beam him in the head on the first throw, like that time when Roman had cast a killing curse at him and Virgil hadn’t even tried to move out of the way.

And suddenly the fogginess of his head gives away to absolutely panic and its the cold type that surges through his veins freezing over his muscles and making his lungs work over time for air that only comes in every third heave. Its the panic he remembers and hates because its only happened once before and that was the worst day of his life.

He needs his wand.

His hand doesn’t even reach to his chest, not to mention across his body to the inside of his left boot where he normal keeps it. It takes him a moment to realize its not his lack of coordination, not his lack of focus nor disconnected thought process struggling to comprehend what was going on: his arm was being prohibited from coming forward by a rope.

Whats more is that when Virgil looks up too slowly putting together the pieces, Roman is standing over him with Virgil’s wand in his hand and an angry look on his face.

It feels like a nightmare; one of his worst ones yet. Its the version where he can’t wake up. The one where Roman has his wand and he’s been dragged somewhere he doesn’t recognize (the woods? Some woods somewhere?) and he’s been tied up because they can’t trust him and--

 And Virgil can’t figure out why he’s alive at all.

He knows what curse Roman sent at him. The bad taste in his mouth and the tingling pain in all of his limbs shows he knows it. The object anger in Roman’s expression is just further confirmation.

And yet, Virgil’s still alive, his pulse fluttering like a pixie’s wings as he desperately tried to come up with an excuse, an explanation, something that he can say that wouldn’t get him killed.

“Hey, Storm,” Roman says with a mockery of a smile that makes Virgil flinch. When was the last time he called Virgil by his last name? Fourth year? “I’m glad to see you alive.”

“Ro- roman,” Virgil gasps. He presses his back against the tree as if he can melt into it. The rope scratches at his wrists. Roman leans closer, and he’s always been taller but its never been threatening until now.

“Wanna tell me why there’s a bunch of fake memories in our heads?” Roman suggests with the end of the wand.

Virgil can’t tear his eyes from the tip, the glowing red that lies there ready to spark whenever Roman wants it to. Virgil’s watched Roman do spells for years; he knows how easily magic comes and flows through him and a wand. Even if it wasn’t through his own wand, he rarely ever messed up.

Is that what happened? Roman made a fluke with the killing curse and now Virgil was still alive when he should be dead?

Virgil’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Pulling it off will probably make his mouth bleed.

“That was not a rhetorical question, Virgil,” Logan’s voice says icily from beyond the wand.

Virgil pries his eyes away from the wand, to where Logan is standing half turned away, with his arm in a makeshift sweatshirt sling and his clothes rumpled and blood crested. There’s a table in front of him where he’s looking at several things with his good hand and his wand is sticking out of his deep pocket like it was just another day out of class. A breeze blows through the trees.

It looks like it should be a happy place.

Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified in his life.

“I-”

Roman looks at him impatiently. “You-?”

He wants to say he doesn’t know, but thats a lie. He knows why there are fake memories in their heads, has known for nearly three years. He’s known and lied and he’s so sick of lying.

But if he doesn’t lie, he has to tell the truth.

And the truth will kill him. Literally. Virgil can feel the stinging pain of his forearm, the burning warmth that he isn’t sure his brain is just making up.

He squeezes his eyes shut pressing his back against the bark of the tree he’s tied to. His voice is quieter than the breeze through the leaves. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Roman scoffs, “Did you hear that, Logan? He says he can’t tell us.”

Logan doesn’t answer so Roman lunges forward to grab Virgil by the front of his jacket and hauls him to his feet. Virgil’s knees threaten to give out but he forces himself back against the tree again, getting as far away from the Gryffindor as he can. 

(He still smells like ashes, like smoke, like death and danger, and an enemy--) 

“I can’t believe you, Storm,” Roman snarls at him, “All this time you were pretending to be our friend, pretending to be more than a friend, and then you turned right back around and fed information to the neo wizard nazis? Who does that?! Other than you, apparently?”

“It’s not like that!” Virgil wishes he kept silent. His eyes are burning with the desperate need to stop the tears from falling, but he doesn’t think he’s been doing a good enough job.

“Tell me what its like then,” Roman challenges.

And Virgil’s mouth snaps shut. His tongue tastes like blood again. His whole mouth tastes like blood.

“His jacket,” Logan says distantly. “He never goes anywhere without that jacket.”

Virgil’s chest constricts, “No.”

Logan glances back at him, then at Roman and without even saying a word they both nod.

“No!” Virgil squirms back into his hoodie, as if he can make himself smaller or make the jacket stick to his back. “Please! Roman!”

Virgil had been smart when he made his jacket. He had been smart when he shielded it with charms to ward off rain and mud and soda. He had protection against cuts and scrapes and fire. Honestly Virgil could charge into battle with nothing but his jacket and most likely come back unscathed from the amount of spells he put on it.

But he's not stupid enough to think that between Logan’s endless knowledge of spells, Roman’s creativity in making new ones, and their combined level of determined spite, that his charms would do anything more than delay the inevitable.

It takes them twenty minutes.

Virgil’s wand flicks in Roman’s hand and then Virgil is left shivering, tied to a fucking tree, begging uselessly for them to stop. His jacket phases right off him, like it was made of some ghost material that existed in a secondary dimension where they can see it but not touch it. Virgil doesn’t understand beyond the fact that its wrong. 

“Accio,” Logan says.

His jacket-- the one his mother had bought him, the one that he had painstakingly stitched back together after every adventure with Dee, the one that he had enlarged every time he had outgrown it because that jacket was his safety blanket-- his jacket sails right towards Logan and lands over Logan’s broken arm’s shoulder.

Virgil’s voice is raw. “Guys, please. Stop--”

They don't stop.

Virgil almost wonders what his life would be like if they did.

“Logan,” Virgil repeats, “Logan, please, don’t--”

“Specialis Revelio,” Logan says ignoring Virgil entirely. His wand waves over Virgil’s jacket. And Virgil can’t tear his eyes off the interior pocket he had charmed away from normal eyes, that glows red in response to Logan’s spell. 

Logan doesn’t even look at him as he flips the jacket over and tears the patch open. Maybe if he had he would have hesitated, even just a little. Roman crosses his arms, squeezing Virgil’s wand in his hand. Virgil shakes his head, blinking back those unhelpful tears, and the whimper thats climbing up his throat.

“What is he going to find?” Roman demands.

Virgil wishes the rope was just a bit longer, just enough that he could bring his hands up to his ears and block out the accusatory tone.

Logan pulls out the Galleon, and rubs it between his fingers for a moment. Virgil’s breath catches at the sight of it, his dark bangs tumbling into his eye sight and his gaze losing hope when Logan says quietly, “Coin Collecting.”

 He doesn’t sound surprised. He doesn’t sound like anything.

“There’s a Protean Charm on this.” Logan says in that same cold tone. “And the date on the border...this is yesterday’s date.”

Roman snarls, oh god, he snarls. Virgil’s chest seizes at the sound. He’s been crying for the past several minutes but that's nothing compared to the absolute dread that floods over him.

“It’s not like that!” Virgil says, “Guys, please!”

“Isn’t it?” Roman growls, “Who were you talking to?”

“I wasn’t--”

“Roman.” Logan interrupts, and Virgil’s stomach drops out.

Because he knows what's in Logan’s hand now, what can make him take on that face, so pale, so horrified.

He knows deep in his heart that the past two years were never going to end quietly but this is something worse. This is his nightmare, this is the scene that keeps him up at night, keeps him terrified of falling asleep and risking seeing that sort of expression on their faces, except this time there is no gasping awake, no pinching himself until his vision blurs and he’s staring up at the ceiling of the guest bedroom in Roman’s house.

Roman’s hands shake as he takes it from the Ravenclaw, that single little paper, worn with age and love and desperation folded into eighths and hidden in his pocket a million times over. 

“You--” Roman says, and, oh god, those brown eyes rage with a fury so much like the fire, full of so much hatred, that Virgil feels it from where he is tied up. Roman can’t finish the sentence, and that’s as scary as what else he could have said.

Its a picture. The picture.

Its thirteen year old Virgil and thirteen year old Dee and its Virgil biggest mistake.

“You’re still friends?” Roman’s voice shakes just like his hands.

“Its not what you think!” Virgil repeats like a broken record, his eyes burning, his voice begging, “Please it’s not--”

Roman rearranges the two wands in his hand and flips the picture around and pinches the top on either side of the fold and gives just a quick jerk of his wrists--

“ROMAN!” Virgil screams. “NO! Please! No, please don’t!” 

And the picture--

He thrashes against the bindings, and the sound he makes is not human. Its a scream, its desperation, its absolute terror and panic. His eyes blur with tears, and his lungs beg to be allowed to inhale again, and his arms are sticky with blood and burning around the wrists where his movements caused the rope to slice his skin and, and, and.

And all Virgil can see is that picture in halves on the ground between them. One half him, one half Dee, and their winter scarves twisted together so that the yellow and green are on both sides and their arms linked just enough to show off those handmade sweaters.

His knees go weak and Virgil ends up on the ground, without being able to drag his eyes from the way Dee had smiled four years ago and never again.

“Repario,” Virgil whispers desperately, despite the fact he doesn’t have a wand and he’s never had enough skill to perform wandless magic. “Repario, please, Repario.”

His chest heaves, shuddering his entire frame with the pleading gasps and wish, wish, wishing the halves back together because despite the fact that he knows the picture like his own face in the mirror, he needs it to not be torn apart, not be ruined, not to be unrecognizable.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” Virgil sobs, “Please don’t... take it from me...please Repario, Logan, please!”

He tugs on the bindings again, and his head drops to his chest, vaguely aware that he’s soaked and shivering and this is the longest he’s gone without his jacket since he was ten, and that he hasn’t cried this much since he had last hugged his mom and she had said that she was proud of the man he had grown into and the friend he would die for. 

“Why should we do anything for you?” Roman demands, “You got Patton-- he’s-- and Logan’s arm--” Roman blows his breathe out of his nose like a Chinese Fireball, “You’re a Death Eater!”

“I’m not,” Virgil hiccups, “Please, I swear!”

Roman’s foot slams down on the pieces of the photo and grounds them into the forest floor.

Virgil blubbers his way through another series of pleading that falls on deaf ears. His fingernails dig into his palms, sticky with blood from his wrists. He tugs uselessly at the rope again, as if it had somehow become loose in the past three seconds. Snot runs down his chin, and salty tears burn his eyes and irritate his neck where he can’t wipe them off. His shoulder blades ache, but its really nothing compared to how the cavity in his chest seems to gnaw at him from inside.

Then Roman is right in front of him, dragging him off the ground by his shirt collar and forcing Virgil to meet his gaze and the tip of a wand, Virgil’s own wand, digging into the soft flesh under his jaw.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, stop, I’m sorry--”

“Shut Up!” Roman snaps.

And Virgil’s mouth closes, but the whimper escapes just enough that Roman gives him a violent shake. The back of his head hits the bark of the tree, and Virgil remembers those hands that had held him as they fell asleep on the couch with movies playing, those hands that had caught him when he fell off his broom in sixth year, those hands that had pulled him out of the way of the Whomping Willow-- those same hands were very capable of of crushing his trachea without magic at all.

Roman backs him up until he’s pressed against the tree and Roman is the only thing holding him up. 

“How long have you been feeding information about the Order to Dante Ekans?”

Virgil whimpers.

“Tell me!”

“It’s not like that,” Virgil hiccups, “I swear Roman--”

“Don’t swear to me!” Roman’s fist tightens, “You and that snake put false memories into our heads! You made us believe that we were friends for who knows how long! I can’t believe we trusted you! I can’t believe I really thought--”

He lets out a breathy laugh, that’s void of the warmth he’s known for, “So tell me how long you’ve been a traitor, Storm, or I’ll leave you here for the wolves to enjoy, bite by bite.”

“I--” Virgil squeezes his eyes closed but it does nothing to relieve the feeling of being burned alive by the other’s eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t...Roman...p-please you...have to believe me.”

“Give me something to believe!” Roman hisses between his gritted teeth, the wand jabs him in the jaw, but the whatever magic Roman’s trying to produce won’t come out because its still Virgil’s wand and unicorn hair cores are as faithful as they come.

Roman throws the wand to the side and instead hooks his other hand on Virgil’s collar. “I haven’t heard a single reason why I shouldn’t believe you aren’t a Death Eater or why we shouldn’t leave you tied up right here.”

God, if Virgil wasn’t terrified before, he is now. Because he’s lost a lot, and he was prepared to lose some of it, but he’s never been alone. He’s never not had someone to have his back, never not had someone to remind him what he was fighting for. The idea of Roman and Logan simply apperating away and abandoning him in the middle of this forest by himself causes his lungs to stutter in complete horror.

He doesn’t care if they hate him. He doesn’t care if they keep him tied up, or frozen over with petrificus totalus, just as long as they take him with them.

“Virgil!” Roman yells, and Virgil flinches, at the loudness of his tone, at the closeness of their bodies, at the sharpness of his canines. He’s got to be delirious from terror, because he’s pretty sure Roman’s eyes are rimmed red and there’s lift in his voice that sounds like he’s pleading for the truth.

Virgil doesn’t know how else to apologize to him, so he says the same words again and again and again.

Then all at once he feels it.

The feeling of someone shoving their hand directly into his brain, ripping apart the muscle at each wrinkle. There’s no precision to the attack; its bloody, and violent, and unpracticed. Claws that thrash and slash and its not like Dee’s soft touch. And that alone triggers Virgil’s urge to vomit.

The walls come on instinct: practiced instinct, muscle memory. They’re strong and thunderous and built out of critical necessity to protect and defend. The claws scratch at the barricade dragging along the stone like it can out run Virgil’s ability to set it them up.

“Virgil,” Logan’s voice comes from somewhere far away, strained, tired. He doesn’t say to let him inside, but Virgil can hear the unspoken words.

Of the two of them Dee had always been better at Legilimency and Occlumency. He had to be. Virgil wasn’t great at either, but they had practiced every night for a year, and then Virgil had done it by himself in the following years, and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

“S-stop!” Virgil sobbed, “Logan!” His hands yank the rope again pulling as far as they can but he can’t get anywhere near his own body, much less where Roman is holding him up.

“Let him in.” Roman commands, “Virgil, let him in!”

Logan isn’t a practiced Legilimens. In fact Virgil bets he’s barely done this more than twice, and even then he needs to use a wand for it. He’d get tired long before Virgil’s walls would come down.

Virgil blames his own unstability. He blames it on the rising feelings he’s harbored for Patton and Logan and Roman and he blames it on Dee leaving him with them. He blames it on the feeling of Roman’s skin so warm on his own freezing, on the touch of Logan in his mind which disregarding the raw, rough edges of the claws, still feels like the raven haired ravenclaw and Virgil still wants to hoard those touches and keep them for himself. He blames it on the fact that he’s wanted to tell them for years now, and that he doesn’t want them to hate him, and, and, and. 

And Logan’s claws leap upward and Virgil’s walls are a second slower then they should have been.

Virgil feels his throat burn with his own stomach acids and memories flash by his mind’s eye, tearing them apart as it goes, searching ever so violently for the memory that explains why Virgil is the way he is, as if his whole life hasn’t been building to this outcome.

Virgil snatches them away from Logan, snatches and stashes and saves those tiny bits behind secondary and tertiary walls before Logan can get to them. Again and again and again until Logan is bruised and battered and Virgil can’t breathe and they’re standing in--

The living room he grew up in. His pictures on the mantle with both him and his mom and three of them emptied where the pictures stolen away. The coffee table has three mugs of tea on it and magazines about the city and the remote that was missing a battery because Virgil had stolen it to put in his secondary Xbox control earlier. 

His mom is there, hugging him tightly, “I’m so proud of you, my little storm cloud. I’m always going to be proud of you.”

Virgil tackles Logan out of that memory. 

Grocery store. Virgil’s been staring at the cereal for five minutes. His wand is in his boot, and his hands are in his jacket. Clenched into fists.

“Pardon me, young man? Would you mind helping me reach the great value box up there?”

Mom. She smiles at him. She doesn’t know him. 

“Yeah, sure. This one, right, Ma’am?”

Another person, a shadow from the end of the aisle, No, no, no, not here-- 

Virgil locks the rest in a black box. Logan doesn’t fight it.

“Don’t you dare try to take this from me, Ekans!” 

Anger. Angry. A challenge. Mistake. Mistake. Mista---

“Lo--Logan!” Virgil gasps. 

“Nasty little fates,” The professor mutters, “Nasty indeed. Do you know what Alstroemeria flowers represent?”

“Logan!”

“Face each other! Grip your right hands!”

“Please!”

Fourteen year old Dee is staring at him. Their hands are clasped tightly, and thin stream of red wrapping around their fingers weaving them together. Professor Remus’s wand doesn’t shake. Virgil doesn’t hesitate.

“I do.” 

Virgil goes limp in Roman’s arms. Seven feet away, Logan stumbles back further, tripping over a tree root and hitting the ground almost as hard as Virgil does. Maybe harder with that broken arm of his. Virgil’s not sure from how intensely his own body shakes trying to get rid of the vile feeling of someone else being in his head. 

He lets out another sob, yanking on the rope and falling as far forward as he can. Roman’s embrace isn’t comforting, but its something. His throat feels dry and eyes burn and he wants to get his hands on that pesky time turner that caused them to do all this just so he can stop himself from ever being born in the first place.

“You--” Logan says. He’s pale, paler than before, paler than paper, paler than the ghosts at that stupid castle. “You made an Unbreakable Vow.”

And whatever slim reserve, whatever dignity, Virgil had left, breaks and he’s gone.

(Next Chapter)

Quick Taglist: @whizzie72​ @chelsvans​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @treasureofpriam​

#lamp #dlamp #anxceit #prinxiety #hogwarts bois #Hogwarts au #IABTW(HI?) #Working title: It's Always Been This Way (Hasn't It?) #attempted murder #spellcasting #mind reading #time turners #ravenclaw!logan #ravenclaw!patton #Hufflepuff!Virgil #gryffindor!roman #Ravenclaw!Remy #sanders sides

[unklarity]

Critical Role: Yasha

“I feel like I’m either very unlucky or cursed. And I don’t believe in luck.”

It's not very often I get the urge to make a box for a character from a series I've never seen/read/played before, but I clearly have a type, so I decided I needed to make a Yasha box.

Below is the description and explanation of all the contents of the box as well as more pictures!

I started out getting information about her from various places, including friends who DO watch Critical Role (I thank you all for your service and for answering my ridiculous questions) and then I got to work. I had a specific color scheme and plan in my head - for one, I wanted to use mainly flowers instead of an even mix of flowers and herbs, and I wanted to really lean heavily on the storm imagery.

Stones:

I struggled finding a focal point for the box for a while, and I'd finally decided on hunting down an Astrophyllite tower when I happened upon something even cooler: a mineral called Arfvedsonite, which is very similar in appearance and composition to Astrophyllite but with a blue sheen instead of a gold one. I found a sphere with the most amazing lightning-like flashes, and I really love the way it looks in the box. It conjures the image of a stormy sky, filled with turmoil and chaos.

I first chose it for looks, obviously, but when I investigated its meaning I was surprised how well it fit Yasha! It’s meant to help soothe deep sadness and emotional turmoil, and assist with moving forward and imagining a future after dealing with emotional pain, grief, and loss. it also helps people who have trouble communicating with others, encouraging them to speak clearly and be able to share their feelings truthfully and accurately. Lastly, it helps make major life changes easier, and can help when your life takes you in new and scary directions.

The sphere also contains almandine garnet and pyrite. Almandine garnet (aka Eudialyte) can help a person let go of the belief that they are unable to avoid suffering or hardship, is used to dispel anger, negativity and guilt, and also assists with processing the difficult end of a relationship and letting go peacefully. Pyrite is a stone for protectors, and helps increase both strength and self-worth, overcome feelings of inadequacy and help reach one's true potential.

Next, I collected some smaller crystals for the box. From the beginning, I knew I wanted some Iolite in the box as it reminded me of Yasha as soon as I read about her. It's a stone that helps wanderers and travelers with navigation, and helps with finding your path when you're lost, literally or figuratively.

There's also a baby blue chunk of celestite, a tumbled piece of gold sheen obsidian, a small purple amethyst tower, and a faceted blood red garnet. Celestite, as its name suggests, is connected to the celestial, which I thought was a good match for Yasha (lol). It represents gentleness, softness, connection with the divine, and helps nerves when talking to others. Gold sheen obsidian is a stone of protection -but also gentleness, which I thought fit well. It's good at shielding from negative energy and evil influences, and lets us shed our negative perceptions and grief slowly while bringing comfort. It also helps to stop us from self-sabotaging.

Garnet, in my practice, represents the heart. It means commitment, devotion, and trust. It helps you to remember things you've forgotten, and helps control self-directed negativity and anger.

Amethyst is traditionally a stone of protection, which does fit, but it also facilitates confidence and calm and banishes anxiety, helping you to form bonds with others and better communicate with them.

Potions:

The potions are a bit different for Yasha than my normal process, because I really wanted to try as hard as I could to use almost ALL flowers. Normally I use a mix of about 50/50 flowers and herbs, with the occasional other materials, but I wanted to make them full of flowery goodness this time. It took a bit longer and I had to source a ton of flowers from all over the place, but it was totally worth it, in my opinion.

There are 7 potions, labeled on the bottom with their corresponding number. The first potion in the first picture (#1) represents devotion and love. I wanted to make something that really showed Yasha's devotion to Zuala and her love for her wife, because I definitely cried about it and needed everyone else to do it too. The potion contains dogwood, lavender and sunflower for devotion, delphinium for commitment and yarrow for eternal love. It is sealed with silver wax and stamped with a sunflower in black.

The second potion (#2) represents the other end of devotion- faith and duty. I felt like devotion was the best word for both of them, because Yasha is very devoted to the Stormlord, but her sense of duty and faith is a different kind of devotion. This one contains amaranth and rosemary for faith and loyalty, and peach rose petals and bluebell for gratitude to the Stormlord for pulling her out of "hell” and is sealed in silver wax with his symbol.

The third potion, (#3) and last in the first photo, represents the contrast between Yasha's strength and her softness. She's tall and intimidating, but she's compassionate and kind to her friends. This potion includes pink roses for gentleness, pink carnation for sweetness and kindness, vervain for tenderness, chrysanthemum for awkwardness or bluntness, and then also contains hydrangea for coldness and aggressiveness, and marigold for cruelty and rage in combat. It is sealed in black wax with a silver sunflower stamp.

The next photo depicts the remaining 4 potions. The first one (#4) represents grief. Yasha has had her fair share of grief, definitely, and I wanted to be sure I touched on that. There's dark red rose petals for mourning, magnolia for grief, purple hyacinth which means "Forgive me," and Zinnia for carrying the memory of an absent friend in your heart. The Zinnia is for Molly, and the hyacinth for Zuala, but the rest of the flowers I think apply to both, and also to Yasha having to leave behind parts of herself with the people (and memories) she has lost. The bottle is sealed with silver wax and a black sunflower stamp.

The second potion in this photo (#5) represents fear and doubt. I really connected with Yasha saying she thought she was cursed, or doomed to suffer. I think the pain she has gone through really affects how she interacts with others. This potion contains chamomile for adversity and rue for obsession over your mistakes (rue and chamomile can also represent feeling cursed or doomed to misfortune), plus purple heather for solitude/wanting to be alone, and agrimony and yarrow for fear, cowardice and self-doubt. Sealed with black wax and a blue eye stamp to match Yasha's blue eye.

The next one (#6) represents growth and the journey that Yasha has made so far, both literally and spiritually. It contains rose quartz for healing and mending a broken heart, yellow rose petals for friendship, and cloves for gaining friends and being made a better person by those around you. There is one clove for each member of the Mighty Nein. Sealed with black wax and a purple eye stamp, to match Yasha's purple eye.

The last potion (#7) was a late addition, but when I looked at all the rest of the potions I felt something was missing from the narrative. This last one represents contrast, but most importantly transformation - in a few ways. Obviously there's the literal: Yasha says she looked different when she woke up on the Stormlord's altar, and then there's the transformation she goes through with the Necrotic Shroud and her wings. But I wanted to draw contrasts between Yasha running from her tribe and leaving the M9 at the behest of the Stormlord; between her struggling with being a coward and being so willing to fight. I wanted to show the transformation from her being helpless to being a protector to so many - from being saved to being someone who saves others - and what had to happen for those changes to occur. It contains bay leaf and moss for strength/power and becoming a protector, cinquefoil for being saved and granted protection, mint for virtue, and labradorite for transformation. This one is also sealed with silver wax and the symbol of the Stormlord.

To tie everything in, I added a small sachet with a hand cast d20 (filled with heather and rosebuds), a small health potion, and a sword charm to represent Yasha’s greatsword. I also included a pink carnation and dogwood flower, along with one of my favorite parts of the box: a miniature leather book that contains a four-leaf clover and other pressed wildflowers. I loved Yasha and her flower collection so much I knew it had to be a part of the box as soon as I heard about it! I hand pressed and added all of the flowers, and there’s room in the second half to add more.

Finally, I painted the inside lid with a lightning storm scene to tie in all my storm references, and the bottom of the inside of the box is painted with a set of black wings and a grey rose.

Inevitably I started watching Critical Role about ¾ of the way into making this box and am a fan now, so I’m blaming my friends for this one :)

Thanks for reading! Yasha will be available in my shop in my July 7th update (EDIT: she has SOLD). Feel free to ask questions on this post or in a message!

You can find my site and shop at unklarity (dot) com!

#yasha nydoorin #cr yasha #the mighty nein #critical role art #critical role #magic boxes #magic box #my art #long post

[echoeternally]

If There Are No Survivors...

Should no winner arise from the poll, or if the highest vote tally falls to the option against the heroes, then the scenes that follow will fill the story as the rest of the cast continues to move on without their allies.

Unlike other moments from other pages, these scenes may occur regardless of the winner, but will carry heavier weights should none of the characters return.

Brief descriptions and scene titles will be included below!

Fair warning: There is some content dealing with death below as well.

Second warning: This post is long to depict several developing scenes!

... ... ...

Tantalizing Roses

A stream of conscious as Chesnaught reflects on his fallen friends before the dark blue roses that haunt him months later.

...

My eyes fell onto the gelid blue roses, set next to the vase with bluebells. Tightening my fist, I strode over to them, and my body twitched as I approached. Greninja had wanted them together like that, pairing off the joy from our flowers, when I first publicly declared my feelings for him...and the roses in memory of our friends.

According to the legends that we were told, these roses were meant to bloom only for a couple that attained an impossible love, one that was strong and enduring. Though mostly a myth to many, since you’d have to be out in the Frozen Fields of the Iceberg Empire to witness their growth, we were around for their emergence between us and our friends, Machamp and Alakazam.

For Greninja and I, they had grown out a bit, but...they wouldn’t emerge outright. With Machamp and Alakazam, they practically commanded the roses to rise up whenever they desired, first discovering them upon a reunion, and then gathering them when we had time off every so often.

While they aren’t the first flowers that I’ve grown to dislike, they are perhaps the cruelest that I know of.

Closing my eyes, I can only see the joy and laughter of my friends that were kings of the roses. Their eyes were bright and smiling whenever they gifted bouquets to one another. Machamp and Alakazam. Friends that were near and dear to us, and two that we lost during the war.

Forcing my tearing eyes open, I glared at the blue roses, a symbol meant for love, but one that’s constantly marred by death.

And I wonder if that is their true purpose.

Some stories that I’ve read, ones that I don’t tell Greninja that I’ve uncovered; they are stated as strictly that: blue roses of mystery that rise up for those marked by death. Flowers that weren’t a gift of love and longing from a lover separated, but instead one that sought to caution others that could fall for a similar fate...one where love doesn’t triumph, but instead anguish does.

Neither sides of the story are treated seriously, of course. But, since we’re directly connected to these flowers...I do wonder...

... ... ...

If Only

Arriving to the Mountains Monarchy, Greninja and his allies assess the daunting cluster of mountains that they’ll be climbing.

...

“Looks like that will be a steep climb up the mountain for us.” Typhlosion snorted. “Fantastic. I’m sure we’re all looking forward to that.”

“Several mountains to ascend and explore,” corrected Samurott. He smirked to Typhlosion, who turned away from him, and he did the same. “Um. It does sound a bit tedious, I suppose.”

“We’ll do what’s required of us,” insisted Rhydon. “We are guests, but we also need to prove ourselves.”

“Shame that we can’t just Teleport up there.” Hypno rolled his eyes as he folded his arms back. “You happen to know that one, Gardevoir?”

“No.” She glared at him, but he merely shrugged.

“Too bad. That certainly would’ve been useful here.”

Though I know he didn’t mean it, suggesting that was like a punch to my gut. I wanted to proudly tell him about my best friend from the Iceberg Empire that would have made short work of that. But there’s little point.

“Greninja?” I blinked and jerked my head up. Gardevoir had turned her attention to me and softened up. “Are you all right?”

Blinking, I hadn’t even noticed the tears that slipped out. I brushed them away and nodded.

... ... ...

Unexplored Reunion

Mienshao meets with someone from Quagsire’s past, as they lament him.

...

“You’re...Feraligatr, correct?”

“Hm?” He blinked and tilted his head at Mienshao, who slowly approached him. “Yeah, that’s me. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t. But, someone that I knew, he...” Mienshao glanced down at the paper in his hand. “When you were younger, there was once a Wooper you might have encountered.” His hand trembled as he gripped the letter. “You were with a rather rude pair back in Grass Fields. Back then, when they were picking on him and a Budew--”

“Wait a second.” Feraligatr blinked and rubbed his chin. “Wooper from Grass Fields...” He snapped his fingers. “Oh my gods! I think...I think I remember that!” He grinned and laughed. “Those two were terrible! That poor Wooper tried to defend Budew, but...” Feraligatr shook his head. “Anyway, I wasn’t much better for being around them, but I didn’t want to do any harm.”

“Yes, that was part of the story.”

“Wow, that’s crazy!” Placing his hands on his hips, Feraligatr grinned to Mienshao. “Do you know about that Wooper kid then?”

“I knew him as Quagsire,” reminisced Mienshao. “Kind, gentle, a love for food...quiet...”

“Wow, he evolved and went up to the Iceberg Empire to join the Emperor’s ranks? That’s great!” He laughed. “That’s such a long way for him to have climbed up. Hey, do you think you could give him a message? I’ve always wanted to apologize about that day.” He sighed and deflated a bit. “I wish I had done more, and I wish I could’ve reached out after.”

“Standing up to your friends was admirable enough for him.”

“Really?”

“He actually wanted to tell you that himself.” Mienshao relaxed his grip and stared down at the letter. “I only recently learned that he had looked into you, but he wanted to find the right words to reach out to you with...” A tear slipped from his eye. “He was planning on asking me for help, and I never knew.”

“That’s ok,” soothed Feraligatr. He patted Mienshao’s shoulder. “We can just talk after things are sorted out here, and maybe that can help with the Monarchy’s relationship to the Empire!”

“I’m afraid he can’t.”

“Huh?”

“Back home, with our war...he didn’t...”

Mienshao swallowed hard and brushed at his eyes. Feraligatr leaned back and his cheery demeanor, his hope, faded. Unable to continue, Mienshao lifted the letter to him.

“Oh.” Feraligatr slowly took the paper and stared at it. “I understand.” He exhaled slowly as he sank down. “So he wanted to reach out...and I...” His arm dropped as Feraligatr’s head fell. “I won’t even get to apologize. Or really know him for who he is...”

... ... ...

Otherworldly Offerings

Speaking with Dusknoir, Greninja is offered some comforts from the priest.

...

“There are a number of spirits that linger associated with you.”

“Yeah, I...I gathered.” How many I actually wanted to talk to would be a different question.

Dusknoir drifted over and leaned closer to me. His red eye settled on me as his hand fell onto my shoulder. There was already a glow from around his head; I don’t think it was really up to me to choose who we’d commune with.

“You expect only pain from this?”

“Talking with spirits that know me, yes.” I glanced behind me, at the dark woods beyond the ruined cathedral. “For someone that’s killed, several times...what am I supposed to expect?”

“Comfort, closure perhaps.”

“That’s doubtful, but thank you.”

“There are many vengeful spirits that reside in the world beyond, I assure you of such,” admitted Dusknoir. “But, you can perhaps find others that remain behind because they seek to help those they left behind. Their unfinished business is to help, not harm.”

“Except I don’t have that from anyone.” I gazed up to him. “Those that died only blame me.”

“Perhaps it may surprise you to learn this, but that is far from the truth.” He spiraled back and held his arms out, a bright blue mist forming around him. “In fact, I have two such souls that are begging to speak with you, because they know you need to hear it from them.”

“Hear what?”

“That it’s not your fault.”

Bowing to me and drifting behind the mist that surrounded my space, I twisted around to look for the others. As I faced back where Dusknoir had been, though, I didn’t find him, but two other ghosts that stood in his place.

Poliwrath and Politoed’s shapes formed in the space of the mist, and I choked on my breath.

... ... ...

Stolen Souls

For the climactic journey’s end, Chesnaught battles against Gengar...and her twisted choice of allies. 

...

“If I’m being entirely honest, I am curious.” Gengar grinned as I tightened my fist. “What’s it like, to have that kind of raw power residing within you?” She drifted back and snapped her fingers. “How about I test it from a Shade of mine?”

Before her rose a shadow from the ground, and my jaw dropped from its shape. Four arms, no mistaking it: she summoned Machamp. Or...his spirit...essence...whatever, that was my friend.

“Let him go!”

“Eeheehee...why would I do that?” Gengar’s eyes widened. “This power...it’s magnificent!”

Orange energy lit up the dark shadowy form, and Gengar snapped her fingers again. Chi rose from Machamp’s Shade, and drifted to Gengar’s hands. She focused them together and aimed at me.

“Let’s see which of you two is truly stronger, shall we?”

Her focused energy blasted from her hands and I dove aside to evade it. Rolling around, I lifted my blade, but my hands shook at sight of Machamp’s figure. Even if he’s not doing anything, even if it’s not entirely him, I can’t just...

“Not quite as entertaining as making you fight your friend,” mocked Gengar. “But, it does come quite close, don’t you think?” The witch cackled as she danced through the air, swaying her shadowy hands around. She can’t get away with this. “Which of the others should I call upon next? One of the frogs? That oaf salamander?”

“Stop!”

“Oh, no. I know the perfect one next...”

... ... ... ... ...

(Remember, these are scenes in development. However, this is what you can look forward to, should there be no winner of the poll. Perhaps that’s what kind of drama the readers might prefer!)

(Head back to the poll here!)

(Still not sure or want to read more? Check back here!)

#a hero's second wind

[inkchantress]

25,913

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Word Count: 2,106

Summary: Pretty much just an exploration of Adrien’s thoughts and slow descent into madness in Desperada

AN: I couldn’t stop thinking about what Adrien must have been put through in Desperada and how they kind of glossed over the aftereffects which must have been really traumatic. So here this is. It’s the first fanfic I’ve ever written, but I enjoyed it a lot so I might start doing more.

Keep reading under the cut (or read it on AO3)

It started out okay.

Better than okay. It started out great. It started out amazing, because here he was, and there she was, and here, finally, was proof that he was worth something. Something beyond Chat Noir’s power and fame, something besides Adrien’s handsome face. Something below the surface. Here, at last, was absolute, solid, concrete proof that Adrien Agreste was worthy.

Adrien wasn’t just happy, he was practically giddy. Finally, after years and years of living in isolation and rejection, wondering how good am I, really, what am I worth besides my father’s fame and fortune? Here was irrefutable proof that he was something, and he would always be something.

It was not only solid proof, it was proof in the form of Ladybug, the one person whose approval he sought time and time again, his best friend, who he had spent night after sleepless night wondering if he was good enough for. Ladybug, looking at him with soft eyes and a small smile and a bit of a blush on her cheeks, watching him with what could only be considered admiration.

It started out okay. She explained the rules. Adrien’s ears were ringing as he heard the snake click into place, and all he could hear was worthy.

Gratitude was radiating through his every muscle, swirling and mixing with adrenaline, making his heart beat fiercely in his chest as the two of them crouched behind a car. He was made of gold, every inch of him. Worthy and powerful and loved after all.

So the first time Ladybug got hit, he wasn’t nearly as worried as he should have been.

Plagg berated him, but he was there for a reason. Ladybug chose him for a reason. He would do this. He could.

He had to.

Second chance.

Trial 2. He’d seen a rose bouquet lying in the street and been unable to resist giving her one, but it was all right. He could go back. Third chance.

Trial 3. She’d curled up against him, behind the car, and he could feel her heartbeat through her skin. She trusted him. She believed in him.

Fourth chance.

It was only by the twentieth trial that Plagg’s warnings began to seep in.

He had to be more careful. He needed to stop being so happy and focus. He was there for a reason, and Ladybug never made mistakes.

50. He heard the trumpet blasting, knew exactly what it meant. But his voice met the open air too late for her.

82. She rounded the corner and he heard it, milliseconds before he saw the gold sand, and then she was no more. His happiness was fading fast.

But no. Ladybug never makes mistakes.

At least, not ones this big, anyway.

Eighty-third chance.

174. The time blended by, the same clip of the same video on loop over and over again. The twiddling of the trumpet, the little near-silent puff of the gold sand, the shiny metallic bring of the sticker appearing.

598. He’d thought it was the trumpet that would be the first thing to drive him insane, but it was that little bring of Ladybug’s proud portrait on Desperada’s back. It was almost like a medal honoring Desperada’s kills--no, not almost. That was exactly what it was. A sick, twisted monument to her success.

732. They’d tried everything. Adrien was running out of options.

1,025. Everything was starting to feel like a horror movie. The same five minutes again and again. Ladybug dying thousands of different ways.

1,101. He’d said it out loud, clawed his heart out of his chest and handed it to her while they were running. He’d seen her eyes turn from confused to shocked. But it didn’t matter. He knew, even before it happened, that she would be gone before she could say anything--he knew that she would reach for him and never get there, knew that she would leave him, kneeling, his heart in his hands, swiping at the golden nothings she became.

1,428. One thousand, four hundred and twenty-ninth chance.

1,765. Not even he knew how he was keeping count--he had no paper, no writing utensil. If he tried to carve tally marks upon the sewer walls, each one would be erased when he returned. It just seemed like something he had to know, information he simply had to keep in his brain.

2,080. Two thousand and eighty-first chance.

2,449. He was far past second chances. Far past third chances.

2,804. But Ladybug never made mistakes.

3,233. The numbers ticked up. Counting, at this point, was almost second nature. It wasn’t something he could do so much as something he had to do.

3,487. Almost like talking, almost like breathing.

3,992. Desperada’s eyes looked like a demon’s, with the whites indigo and the irises copper. She looked like something he might see in his nightmares.

4,238. But she was something he saw in his nightmares, wasn’t she? This was a nightmare. He had to be dreaming.

4,677. Or he was going insane.

5,336. Five thousand, three hundred and thirty-seventh chance.

5,899. And the lines from her mouth to the black music note stains on her cheeks, her chalk-white skin beneath the dark velvet suit, the gold pattern of bones on her collar. The woman looked like a walking skeleton.

6,351. Like Death personified.

6,777. If Death was a person, what would they look like?

6,939. Now Adrien knew.

7,447. This time, he didn’t even bother leaving the sewers. He just looked Ladybug in her kind, strong bluebell eyes and threw his arms around her, knowing what was coming, knowing he had only seconds. She didn’t even have time to hug him back.

8,370. Eight thousand, three hundred and seventy-first chance.

8,995. A part of him couldn’t help noticing Ladybug’s little gasp every time she was hit.

9,244. It was barely a sharp intake of breath, and then suddenly she had no lungs, so she could not breathe.

9,639. It was ironic that she turned to sand as she gasped.

10,024. She was lost in a desert of golden sand,

10,772. he was drowning in time,

11,343. in the same five minutes over and over.

11,967. Eleven thousand, nine hundred and sixty-eighth chance.

12,243. One minute and two seconds.

12,562. Two minutes and nineteen seconds.

12,774. Forty-seven seconds.

12,996. Three minutes and twelve seconds.

13,282. Thirteen thousand, two hundred and eighty-third chance.

13,443. Adrien found a different thing to notice every time.

13,722. He kept his eyes on the blank space on Desparada’s guitar case that had held Ladybug fifty-three seconds before and would hold her again.

14,005. It was twisted, the way Ladybug smiled in ink on her sticker, with her

14,393. round pigtails and

14,997. squared shoulders and

15,590. lips turning upward and

15,822. eyebrows raised and

16,444. empty eyes that lived and died believing that

16,833. Adrien Agreste was worthy when in fact

17,229. he was not and

17,777. he never would be. He would try and

17,884. seventeen thousand, eight hundred and eighty-fifth chance

17,939. he would fail and she

18,003. would never know. It

18,449. split his heart in two every time she was taken

18,767. so that by now every muscle tissue, every

18,903. blood vessel, every

19,200. hollow chamber was nothing but

19,545. sand. Split sand

19,722. nineteen thousand, seven hundred and twenty-third chance

19,880. gold sand that took her away from him

20,147. no matter how hard he tried and now

20,333. he feared he truly was going insane because

20,562. did sane people fight against the makings of the universe

20,899. this way? did sane people see the same discarded bouquet and think two

21,003. did sane people check every possible place and still get caught unguarded

21,225. twenty-one thousand, two hundred and twenty-sixth chance

21,558. did sane people hear the awful deathly scrape of a manhole cover

21,846. and feel heaving in their chest, thinking what a

21,939. cruel artist reality is. Cruel in her deviousness, cruel in her

22,118. impersonation of fantasy, cruel in death, cruel

22,445. in life, until they were one and the same and pain was love and perhaps everything

22,668. was everything, perhaps there was no distinction between anything and

22,799. the lines we draw are human lines, between

23,103. sand and man, demon and nightmare and more second chances

23,444. between sticker and person, maybe they don’t matter

23,794. maybe they never did.

23,919. maybe the only thing that ever mattered was worthy and

24,154. maybe that was why he was doing this over and over, the sand and

24,399. the trumpets

24,500. twenty-four thousand, five hundred and first chance

24,668. maybe it was never for her, maybe it was for him.

24,894. the sun is scalding. the bouquet sits in the road

24,955. and he dares not touch it but it touches him, chews

25,003. and howls at his bones. the sky bleeds into the sewers and he forges on,

25,242. if only for fear of what will happen when he finally stops

25,601. his heart is sand so fine it has been torched into glass,

25,788. glass with which a new heart is being built, a stronger one, one

25,812. that will hold stars

25,899. he is a sunflower borne from the soil of blood

25,904. and his heart weeps for all of the bouquets left upon the street

25,908. for desert upon desert of gold glittering sand

25,910. his glass heart weeps for it has neither eyes nor ears and

25,911. will never know the sweet taste of forgiveness but only the feeling of fire.

25,912. twenty-five thousand, nine hundred and thirteenth chance.

25,913.

It was Plagg that finally did it.

Truth be told, Adrien was ready to keep going for eternity--to get trapped in a time loop until he figured out a way to save her or died in the fiery embrace of the golden sand. But this time, instead of the awesome team, all right that had become habit, Plagg simply folded his arms, looked at him, and said, much softer than he normally spoke: “You look exhausted.”

It was the first time that he had said that, the first time anything other than awesome team, all right had come out of his mouth since this whole nightmare began.

You look exhausted.

Adrien was.

“I am,” he replied.

The snake’s head crept slowly toward its destination. Adrien and Plagg watched it.

“You know,” said Plagg, in the same soft unfamiliar voice, “you’ve got nothing to prove.”

“What?”

“You’ve got nothing to prove. Not to Ladybug, not to anyone. That’s all.”

Adrien looked at Plagg, and Plagg looked back, floating with his arms crossed and his eyes flat.

Adrien would cry later, have nightmares and wake up with cold toes in sweaty sheets, frantically flicking his wrist in search of a bracelet that was not there. He would see the face of Death branded into his eyelids, hear the horribly jaunty trill of the trumpet and always be too late, spit golden sand from his brain through his parched mouth as his tongue searched for water. He would cry remembering the discarded bouquet upon the asphalt, the bloody petals fresh and never falling, having seen the deadliest of things.

“I know,” he said.

He slid the snake’s head back for the last time. Plagg disappeared, and there was a sucking  sound in his ears. There was only a split second where he was caught between the future and the present, and he did not cry as he closed his eyes, for there would be time later, plenty of nightmares to spare.

It rained later that day, once the demon had been vanquished, and Adrien caught a glimpse of something on the side of the road as the band searched for shelter. He tilted his head to the sky and felt the raindrops slide down his cheeks, for no one around him would understand why such a beautiful and simple thing as a waterlogged bouquet, petals finally peeled away and beaten down by the rain, had moved him to tears.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #adrien agreste #ladybug #plagg #aspik #second chance #miraculous drabble #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #desperada #chat noir #ladybug and chat noir #ladrien #please please please don't let this flop #i worked so so hard #and i'm really proud #pls read! #25913 #fanfic

[my-fanaticdomain]

A Golden Mistake, Part 6

The first fight

Chloe stood up and stared into her reflection as she replaced her earrings with the miraculous. A difficult feat since her hands shook. “Find the object where the akuma is hiding, break it, save the city.” Her eyes darted over to Tikki, who nodded reassuringly. “The special power is lucky charm.”

This was all so much. Tikki gave her another nod, her smile bright, and Chloe steeled herself to walk past Adrien.

Even with everything Tikki had told her about invulnerability in the suit, this was still going to be dangerous. Chloe could not let anything happen to him. Not even when Adrien gave her a worried look, leg bouncing restlessly, and a large part of her screamed she could not do this alone. That he deserved this opportunity more anyway. But Tikki had been rather insistent that this had to be a secret, and Chloe clung to the surge of protectiveness that rose at the sight of him.

She grabbed the remote and turned off the tv, holding it up out of his reach. “You shouldn’t get all worked up about this. I’ll call you the moment it’s over, promise. Alright? I have to go.”

Adrien let out a long sigh, gave her his best sad eyes. Chloe stood firm. “Fine,” he muttered, defeated. Then he peeked up at her through his lashes. “Thank you for coming over to cheer me up.”

Everything melted away in the face of her fondness. Why, she was even smiling, for the first genuine time all day. “Anytime, Adrikins.” Chloe blew him a kiss as she turned.

Her feet marched her through one door, then the other, then the gate, and then she was far down the street until she had hidden in an alley. The car was forgotten, abandoned. All that mattered now was moving forward.

Tikki fluttered in front of her. “Are you ready? You just have to say, spots on.”

Chloe took a deep breath. “Spots on.” Immediately there was a wash of light, a strange rush, and then Tikki was gone. She blinked the stars from her eyes, ran a hand over them, and froze.

There was a mask on her face, held in place by some unknown power, and her hands were gloved with a strange material. Chloe looked at her legs, turning side to side as though she had a mirror. She wore sturdy black boots that rose halfway up her calves before dissolving into dark spots against bright red. Heeled, for style, but not so tall as to be impractical. She touched her hips, where a yo-yo hung just as Tikki had said, and Chloe shook her head until she could feel her ponytail swish. She forced herself to still. There would be time to admire her costume later.

As for that moment, she grabbed the yo-yo and threw it, hoping for the best. It seemed to latch onto something. She gave an experimental tug, then she was flying through the air. On instinct she threw it again and again. Each time she would be suspended in midair for a small eternity, and her hands would not seem to move nearly soon enough, until she would latch onto something and it would begin again. Finally she caught a lamppost. Chloe swung all the way up and around, where gravity caught her but the magic string held her suspended.

Upside-down, Chloe carefully lowered herself towards the ground, her entire concentration on the string between her fingers. A distant yelp gave her pause.

A black body crashed into her, bringing them both to the ground far faster than either would have liked.

Chloe brushed herself off, sharp words on her tongue, but the body turned out to be a small girl in a  fanged mask and a cat ear headband. The partner Tikki had mentioned.

“Sorry, I'm so sorry,” the girl spluttered, scrambling to her feet, head still lowered. She might have been Chloe's age, actually, though the way she hugged herself was rather adorable.

Chloe opened her mouth to snap a harsh reply, but hesitated. This girl did not know her reputation. No one knew who she was yet. She could be anyone, could do far better than that disastrous first year in Marinette's class. She stood. How would I treat Adrien, she thought, remembering her butler's advice. How would I want to be treated. “Don't worry about it. We're both learning the ropes,” she said instead.

The girl looked up through dark lashes, a hint of red peeking from beneath her mask, and Chloe's heart nearly stopped. She was cute. Dilated bluebell cat's eyes, hair black as night, a silver satin ribbon tied in a bow around her neck. The black bodysuit hugged her figure so well it made up for its simplicity, a sash around her waist the only nuance, and it trailed off into a silver tipped scarf tail that swished as though it might have been real. Oh, this had to be better than Chloe’s first meeting with Marinette. It had to be.

Chloe was more mature, anyway. She reached forward to lightly tug the bow. “You’re far too pretty to be a stray. Got a name, kitty cat?”

The girl ducked her head again and fiddled with her baton. “I’m Ma- ma-” the baton connected solidly with Chloe’s abdomen. “Madly clumsy,” she trailed off, horrified. “I’m so sorry!”

It did not hurt. Chloe rubbed the spot and laughed. “Hey, don’t worry about it!” Her eyes went shrewd. “You can just call me Ladybug. Now come on,” she tugged the girl closer, “we’ve got an akuma to catch and I’m a little more handy with this yo-yo.”

She waited patiently for the girl to grip back, and then they were flying through the air again towards the last sighting. It got easier with every throw. Their next landing was far more graceful, only stumbling forward a step or two.

They were on the outside wall of a soccer stadium. On the field below they could see Stoneheart approaching Kim. Ladybug furrowed her brow, considering, but the girl took off like a shot to jump between the boys. Not a beat of hesitation.

Ladybug watched the girl hit the monster solidly with her baton, and then it glowed yellow and grew. That made things interesting. She jumped down and snatched the girl away to the end of the field before it could retaliate.

“Did you see that?” her feline friend exclaimed breathlessly, eyes wide.

Ladybug was bemused. “Yeah.”

“The akuma has got to be in his closed fist. I should use my power,” the girl muttered, then she yelled out, “Cataclysm!” She brushed her hand over the goalpost and watched it crumble in fascination. “Alright.”

“Wait!” Ladybug reached out and missed. She watched the girl run away helplessly. “We can only use our powers once!”

The girl had her hand pressed to the monster’s foot, and Ladybug could practically feel the moment she looked up in fear. Stoneheart laughed and kicked her back to knock against the edge.

“Oops,” the girl murmured quietly.

Ladybug swallowed a sick feeling. Her feline friend needed her. The new girl filming a few feet away needed her. Adrien needed her. There was no time to waste. She threw her yo-yo up and yelled, “Lucky charm!” A red and black spotted suit fell into her outstretched arms. She scanned the stadium, attention falling on a hose and the tap by the new girl. Her eyes met her feline friend’s. She nodded.

Then the cat took off running, making a comically bad timed leap directly into the monster’s grasp. Ladybug did not have time to second guess anything, she just grabbed the hose, stuffed it into place and lept as well. “Catch this, rock boy!”

His mouth fell open, then something purple dropped from his fist as it obliged. The cat yelled, “Alya! The tap!”

The new girl looked up from her phone and practically tripped over herself to oblige. Water ran through the hose, inflating the bodysuit, and then Ladybug was on the ground rolling.

She stomped on the akuma object. It crumbled under her boot. A purple butterfly fluttered away, and the rock monster faded into Ivan. Ladybug blinked. Huh. “What's going on? What am I doing here?” he asked, seeming genuinely dazed.

Shaking her head, she grabbed the paper and scanned it. Ah. This was certainly something worth getting angry over. Kim had always been prone to insults and challenges. With her nose wrinkled, she glanced back at Ivan, but found herself staring at the other heroine instead. A hero had to be better.

Ladybug walked over just as the girl stood. “Good, uh, good job.”

Her cheeks were red again. “Thanks.” She lifted a fist. “Partner?”

Partner. Under normal circumstances Chloe might have laughed, announced incredulously that she had done all the work, but there was nothing about this that was normal. A small voice that sounded suspiciously like Adrien reminded her that the girl had helped. Besides, she looked so nervous, almost afraid to be hopeful, that Chloe could not find it in herself to refuse. She bumped the girl’s fist. “Partner.”

Ladybug had to turn away from the way her face lit up. She crumpled Ivan’s paper in her fist. “Violence is not the answer,” she said imperiously, then threw her yo-yo and ran from all the strange sensations in her chest.

#ladybug!chloe #chloe as ladybug #chat noir!marinette #marinette as chat noir #chloe bourgeois #chloe #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #marinette #miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #tikki #tikki the kwami #a golden mistake #part six #stoneheart #origins #mine #my writing

[lostinfic]

Hardy x Hannah • 12

Enchantment 

#12 Storm clouds

Thank you for the prompt, I hope you like it!

Rating: all-ages

Word count: 2124

Summary: Hannah is a witch afraid to fall in love, until one of her spells backfires in the best of ways.

@tinyconfusion here’s your Practical Magic AU (although maybe not the one you dream of) (early birthday present?)

Ao3

Hannah had swam too far. The cliffs were a mere copper line in the distance. Not a soul on the beach, they’d all gone home for supper.

The water turned grey. It shivered around her, stirred, restless under the gathering clouds.

Hannah swam towards the beach but the undercurrent pulled her back. Waves sucked at the strength in her legs. Rain fell like a lead curtain. She couldn’t tell the sea from the sky, the beach from the horizon.

Panic flared in her guts, short-circuited any rational thoughts. She tried to scream for help but waves slapped her face and salty water splashed into her lungs.

*

In the conservatory of her aunts’ house on the Isle of Wight, a young Hannah— nine and a half years old to be exact— carefully chose her ingredients. A sprig of valerian, a row of foxgloves, a blackberry leaf. And she whispered to herself: “He will hear my call a mile away. He will quote my favourite books. He can see the future in his dreams.”

Jackie walked into the room and watched her sister for a moment. “What are you doing?”

“Summoning up a true love spell called ‘Amas Veritas’,” Hannah replied. She sprinkled dried lavender into her wooden bowl and added a bunch of bluebells to it. “He can flip pancakes in the air. He’ll have a big heart, as big as the world. Too big. And he’ll wear ties all the time.” She added sunflower petals. “And he’ll have golden eyes.”

“I thought you never wanted to fall in love,” Jackie said.

The Baxter women were cursed, any man who fell in love with them was doomed. Or so the family legend said. Was it fate or just an accident that had killed her father? Whatever their mother believed, she’d died of a broken heart. And thus, Hannah promised herself never to fall in love.

But today, she had witnessed a woman begging her aunts to cast a spell on a married man she loved. That woman’s desperation, bordering on madness, had shaken Hannah. There was nothing beautiful or dignified about it. Love dragged you in the mud.

As the woman pierced a dove’s heart, Hannah had decided to take concrete actions to protect herself from love.

“That’s the point,” she explained to her sister. “The bloke I dreamed of doesn’t exist. And if he doesn’t exist, I’ll never fall in love and die of a broken heart.”

She carried her bowl to the balcony on the second floor. The warm night air fluttered the petals, and when she recited the spell, they twirled and rose towards the moon.

*

Hannah coughed up water. Salt stung her throat. Sand chafed her cheek.

“You alright? Miss? Bloody hell, d’you have a death wish?”

With a great effort and a moan of pain, she turned her face towards the voice. A thin man, all scraggly hair and unkempt beard. His tie dangled above her.

The sun came out, piercing the clouds, and illuminated his face. The brown of his eyes shone almost golden.

“How…?” She didn’t have the strength to finish her question.

He helped her to her feet and supported her through the short walk to a small blue house.

As if he’d expected her, there already were towels and blankets in the living room.

“I was folding the laundry,” he explained as he arranged towels over the couch.

She shivered in her bikini, and he promptly draped a knit blanket over her shoulders. Then a second one. He peered into her face— her teeth were chattering— he scrunched up his nose, and covered her legs with a duvet, tucking it tight under her knees and feet.

“What’s your name?”

“Hannah.”

“I’m Hardy… Alec.”

“Thank you, Alec.”

“How are you feeling? You were pretty out of it.”

“I feel… tired.”

“Is there anyone you want to call?”

“I don’t know. Not really.”

Well, there were people she could call, but no one she wanted to. Actually, inexplicably, she wanted to stay right here, in this cozy, seaside shack.

“You can rest here for a while,” he said.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I know the harbour master.”

“He came to get you?” That seemed like a strange protocol.

“I heard you calling,” Alec said.

“From here?”

He shrugged and disappeared into a bedroom.

There was something familiar about Alec Hardy that she couldn’t put her finger on.

The files spread on the coffee table told her he was a policeman.

In the full bookcase behind the sofa, she spotted a worn-out copy of Peter Pan and even her first novel. Maybe she’d met him at a book signing. He didn’t seem the type.

Underneath, there was a family portrait, outdoors, at some birthday party. Alec with his daughter and wife. “She looks more like a witch than me,” Hannah mumbled.

Alec had changed into a dark blue jumper, and he tossed another one her way. She’d stopped shivering, but put it on anyway. It smelled of Irish Spring soap.

“The books were there when I moved in,” he said.

“And the family picture?”

“I’m on it, aren’t I?” He offered no further explanation.

She tracked his movements as he prepared two cups of tea in the narrow kitchen. He opened crooked cupboards, searching for saucers, sugar and snacks.

Looking at him was as maddening as having a word on the tip of her tongue.

“Have we ever met?” she asked.

He looked up from the cups he was filling, his eyes wide, and he spilled water from the kettle all over the countertop.

“Shit.” He quickly cleaned up the mess.

He place a cup of tea with two Jammie Dodgers in front of her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

She stirred milk and sugar into it, and the spoon kept spinning much longer than it naturally would. When he noticed it, she put her hand over the mug— she was slipping.

She held the cup in two hands and brought it close to her face, she closed her eyes, basking in its warmth for a moment. The first sip soothed her.

“Are you from Broadchurch?” he asked.

They compared places they’d been to and people they knew, but nothing overlapped. He admitted uncomfortably to appearing in newspapers, but Hannah wasn’t one to keep up with the news. They were complete strangers after all.

Alec was rough around the edges with his scruffy cheeks and sharp nose and blunt questions. She thought of thistles, the floral emblem of Scotland. Still, his actions revealed a genuine concern for her well-being despite his small talk flaws.

“What were you doing out there?” he asked.

“Swimming?”

She took a long sip to dissipate her uneasiness.

“You were very far into the sea. Do you have suicidal thoughts?”

“No! No, don’t worry. Really don’t. I was, er, you know, training for… a swimming competition. Amateur competition. Obviously.”

He quirked an incredulous eyebrow at her excuse and inquired further as only a detective would. Thankfully, he relented when she rubbed her forehead in pain.

If she told him she needed to bathe in the first high tide of the summer equinox to ward off evil, he would laugh in her face.

Hannah always “scanned” her clients to keep the creepy ones away. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to her to do the same for this handsome man she’d met at a writing workshop. She’d ignored the red flags, chalked it up to his passionate nature. When she finally listened to her fear and tried to break things off, he already knew too much about her to get rid of him easily. She’d had to resort to belladonna and magic.

That bloody spell better have worked because it almost cost her her life.

Thinking back on these events, Hannah decided she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

“Can I use the loo?”

In the tiny bathroom, she found a dusty candle that might have belonged to the previous tenants. She blew softly on the wick until a flame blossomed. Then she whispered one of the few spells she knew by heart.

The beating of Alec’s heart echoed in her head. There was something off about it. She sensed anger in the irregular beats. But he was not a bad person, on the contrary, his kindness washed over her mind like the gentlest waterfall.

Her skin goose-pimpled.

“He’s a good one.”

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and then noticed she looked… well, she looked like someone who’d almost drowned.

She asked Alec’s permission to take a shower, and he lent her sweatpants and a police t-shirt.

The hot water and soap made her feel better in an instant.

She noticed— with some satisfaction— the lack of women’s beauty products in the bathroom.

Hannah braided her hair in loose pigtails and rolled the sweatpants’ elastic waistband low over her hips.

When she came out, he stared for a moment. “Looks better on you,” he said, rather gruffly.

*

Hannah had fallen asleep on his couch, and Hardy didn’t know what to do. He stood beside her, hands on hips, contemplating the situation. He couldn’t possibly wake her up and kick her out of his house after what she’d been through today. And to be honest, he enjoyed her presence. He welcomed it even if she snored. He’d been alone for too long.

The last sun rays descended behind the horizon and momentarily alighted her hair.

He’d heard her call for help from impossibly far away. It didn’t make any sense and yet, somehow, it did. He knew why but the explanation vanished as soon as he tried to grasp it.

He thought of Peter Pan.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming…?” he whispered.

He knew the quote by heart from reading the book multiple times in his childhood and then to Daisy, but in this moment he could not finish saying it.

“For God’s sake,” he muttered as he adjusted a blanket over Hannah.

*

In the morning, sunlight bounced off the water surface, slipped through the windows and shimmered on the ceiling. Through blurred eyes, Hannah watched it dance above her for a moment.

How could something so beautiful have nearly killed her yesterday?

A healthy fear and respect of nature was what every witch needed. Perhaps it had been a reminder to not abuse her powers.

A delicious scent pulled her out of her musings. Alec, in a grey t-shirt and PJ bottoms, looked at her from the kitchen doorway.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Famished.”

“Pancakes?”

Hannah smiled, wide and bright, and jumped to her feet. He returned her smile.

As he cooked the pancakes, she set the little table by the window.

“Let’s see if I can still do this,” he said.

He shook the pan until the pancake slid around then flicked his wrist to make it flip. But the pancake landed on the floor, and all of his good mood vanished in an instant.

“Give it another try,” she encouraged him.

This time, a few words whispered in latin made sure the pancake landed in the pan.

They wolfed down the pancakes and washed it down with coffee, between bites, they chatted some more.

Hannah had a gift to make people talk, and there was nothing magical about it. She asked the right questions and gave people time to reply rather than rush to fill the silence. And in desperate cases she had a go-to, self-deprecating, anecdote that usually put people at ease. She didn’t need it with Hardy, she didn’t want to use it, she wanted to just be herself.

She told him about her ex and coming to Broadchurch to escape.

“I suppose it’s the place to get away from exes,” he said.

He told her, in very few words, about his divorce.

“Why Broadchurch?” she asked.

He scratched his cheek and gave this some thought. “I don’t know… there were other towns where I could’ve worked.”

The question really seemed to bother him, he kept frowning as they carried dishes to the sink.

“Well, if you hadn’t been here, I would’ve been in trouble,” Hannah said.

He gripped the edge of the sink and stared as it filled with bubbles. “Aye.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No… maybe you’re right. Maybe I was here to save you.”

She leaned closer. Her arm brushed his, and he looked at her, straight at her. An earnest gaze that made her ribcage feel too small for her lungs and heart.

And she realized, she’d experienced attraction before, but never like this, never more than physical.

“Hannah,” he said softly.

She nodded as a lump rose in her throat. She didn’t understand why.

He cradled her face in his palm, his thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Hannah leaned into his touch.

“I think I know you,” he said.

She stepped closer to him and placed her hand on his heart. “Yes. Somehow.”

“I was waiting…”

“Between sleep and awake.”

He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her closer to him like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

She was in a daze. Everything made sense even if it didn’t. In that moment, the only truth worth believing in was that they’d found each other at last.

Both turned their heads at the same time and, with a sigh, pressed their lips together. Shyly, at first, a chaste kiss, until Hannah licked the syrup off his lips. He pressed her against the counter and deepened the kiss, ravenous after a lifetime of waiting. Each caress of tongue and smack of lips brought to light hints and clues, moments, words, images.

They broke the kiss with a sudden gasp.

“My spell.”

“My dream.”

░

Full Peter Pan quote

#meanwhileinpetesworld #tinyconfusion #Hardy x Hannah #teninch fic #practical magic au #lostinfic writes stuff #two-word prompts #I'm sorry I took a movie about sisterhood to write a shippy fic

[nxrthmizu]

-Lordbug, Robin and Kitty Noir- Chapter Four: In Which They Did Some Ass Kicking

/Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven//Part Eight//Part Nine//Part Ten//Part Eleven/

Description: Akuma, then Robin-Lordbug change, argument between Kitty and Lordbug, Lila drama

Warnings: Little curses, like in the chapter title

---

An akuma was raging downtown. It was the teacher instead of the student that time, Damian thought dryly as he rushed to the toilet with his Robin uniform in hand. 

“Damian, you need to go as Lordbug!” Tikki told him worriedly. “Or else you can’t purify-”

Slamming the toilet door close, Damian refused. “I’m not going as Lordbug. I’ll change to Lordbug later if necessary.” 

---

“Robin!” Kitty Noir breathes a sigh of relief- And tries to dissipate a faint blush- When she sees the familiar boy swoop over, dodging an attack from the akuma, a teacher fed up with Chloe’s antics. “Great to see you. Um, did you see...” Ducking another blow, Kitty Noir searched for the spotted superhero’s name in her mind. “Lordbug?” 

Robin grunted, biting his lip as the akuma barely scratched him, just nearly missing his eye, leaving a clear, red, gash down next to his mask. “No, I’m here to help you, though. He’ll swoop by later to purify the akuma.” 

Kitty Noir was obviously slightly annoyed by this, and Robin felt a pang of guiltiness at the fact that his partner didn’t like his alter ego. Well, who could, with a name as ridiculous as Lordbug (He knew that the name was a ridiculous decision)?! 

“That drat bug.” She muttered angrily under her breath as she whacked the teacher in the head, apologizing as she did. “Sorry!” Robin shot her a weird expression. 

“Why’d you apologize?” He asked, scrunching up his face in confusion as he threw another Batarang in the direction of the akuma. 

Kitty only shrugged. “Habit. I don’t hit people very often, you know.” With a laugh, she asked: “Do you?” 

Robin scoffed. “Hey, I’m not a bad guy, okay?” 

Together, they took down the akuma, with Robin distracting it while Kitty jumped in and ran off with the item- A lipstick. When she turned back, Robin was gone, and the akuma had just spotted her. 

“Ah, crap.” Kitty murmured under her breath before taking off, running away from the growling akuma. 

---

She was dead cornered. 

The akuma stepped forward menacingly, a wicked grin splattered over her dark, black lips as she crept towards Kitty Noir- Exactly like a predator would corner a prey. 

I’m not a prey. She told herself, Think. There must be a way. 

She was running out of time. If she was poisoned by the akuma, Lordbug would go help Robin, right? Robin wouldn’t be alone? 

No, Lordbug didn’t show up. He wouldn’t be reliable enough. With a determined grit, Kitty swung herself towards the akuma, kicking her in the face, extending her baton as the akuma groaned in pain, clutching at their face (Where there was a mark of her foot), getting away from her dead end. 

Robin needs me. She panted in her head, repeating the phrase. Well, he doesn’t, but he would be better off with a little help. I won’t let him fight alone. Repeating the phrase again once more for effect, she tried to ignore the gradually crescending volume of the akuma’s footsteps and cackles from behind her. Keep running. Robin. Robin.  

“Get away from her!” A familiar voice- 

Robin? 

She turned around to see someone kick the akuma in the face (Again, the poor thing), growling in anger. A yoyo whizzed past her, and she realized that no, it wasn’t Robin she was looking at, feeling a pang of disappointment hit her in the gut. 

It was Lordbug. 

---

“About time you showed up.” She grumbled, refusing to meet him in the face, and then she remembered. How could she forget? “Where's Robin?” She asked frantically. Was he okay? Was he injured? 

Lordbug coughed suspiciously before he scoffed. "I came all the way here to catch your akuma, and the first thing you say to me is 'Where's Robin?'"

Kitty Noir huffed. "Right. We could've handled everything just fine without you." The only thing he even did was kick the akuma (Once) and demanded her to Cataclysm the object before simply swinging that dratted yoyo that made that annoying noise to catch the black butterfly. "In fact, why don't you just give that... Yoyo to Robin? Then we could both handle everything, and you don't have to come all the way here to catch our akuma.”

He seemed to momentarily choke on some non-existent object, and if it was a normal person (As in, someone who wasn't Lordbug), she would show a little worry, but with Lordbug, she only scrutinized him, scoffing dryly. 

"You don't have to come next time.” She spat at him, angry. He lifted a hand to wipe a scratch off his dotted mask (When did he even get hurt, anyway? He literally just appeared two seconds ago), and if she paid attention to the act, she would've noticed that 1, there was a little faded scar of a gash- Right next to his mask, where Robin had gotten scratched- and 2, that his mask had changed from the first time they met- It had developed sharpened, curving-downwards pointers- Just like how Robin's was. 

He watched her go, turning down an alley to detransform back into his Robin uniform. "Back to school. Hopefully, angel's okay.”

---

"Dupain-Cheng!” Damian called out, catching the dark-haired girl exit the toilet. "What were you doing in the toilet! There was an akuma attack! You should've evacuated with everyone else!”

Marinette laughed nervously. "Sorry, I... Got stuck.”

"For thirty minutes?”

"And what about you? I saw you go into the toilet, too." She replied with a cocky grin. Damian blushed, unable to come up with a refutation. 

---

"Angel?” Robin knocked softly on the trapdoor leading into her room. "Angel?” He repeated a little louder this time, hoping she was in her room. When he gained no reply, he swung down to one of her windows, sighing fondly (And in relief) when he saw her engrossed in her work by her desk, earplugs stuck firmly as she nodded along to the beat. "How cute.” He murmured, Tikki nodding in agreement. 

"She is cute!” She chirped, nudging him. "Why don't you knock on the other window? It might gain her attention.” 

Robin was going to ignore the Kwami, but the urge of seeing his angel was too large. 

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. 

Marinette looked up, glancing around in confusion before she saw emerald eyes, looking straight at hers- From outside the window. Bluebell orbs brightening, she hurried over to the window, grinning as she let him in. 

"Patrol?" She asked, humming as she continued to do the work, watching him sink down next to her lounge chair out of the corner of her eye. 

"Yeah. Kitty Noir was supposed to join me tonight, but she didn't show up. Guess she was busy.” Robin shrugged. Marinette jolted, remembering with a start. Right, she had scheduled patrols with Robin!

"S-Sorry-" Wait, why was she saying sorry? He wasn't supposed to know that she was- 

Robin had caught her mistake, narrowing his eyes as he sat up, looking at her. "Why are you sorry?" 

---

Damian pondered the question circulating around his head. Why was she sorry? Tikki- Well, Tikki was frustrating herself out. Damian was in love with Marinette. Marinette was Kitty Noir, who- Obviously- Liked Damian- Robin- But Damian didn't like Kitty Noir. Not really. 

Tikki sighed. As always, there was always some sort of romantic love-square trouble between the Cat and and the Ladybug. Always. Except now, one of them had an alter, alter ego. That throws in another one to the mix. Well, she was the Kwami of luck, after all. Maybe with her around, and if she crossed her paws- Flippers- Whatever those things are, really- Maybe, the two would start unravelling their love story. 

---

"Um... Why're you here?” Marinette asked awkwardly, feeling no sort of feelings whatsoever for the boy standing in front of her. 

"To make sure you aren't late.” Damian scoffed, running through the various ways the scenario could go in his mind, frantically panicking inside as he did so. 

Marinette giggled. "Okay, let's go!” 

---

She was alone. Now was the chance, Lila thought. 

"Marinette. Can I talk to you?" She asked sweetly, smiling for effect. The girl looked at her confusedly, tucking her bag into her locker. 

"Um, yes, sure?" She smiled tightly. 

"Stay away from Alya. And Adrien. And practically everyone, if you don't want me to destroy your life.” The girl told her simply. Marinette narrowed her eyes, not quite understanding. 

"Stay away?" She questioned. 

"Is that a challenge? I'll show you just what I can do.” Before the dark-haired girl could make another comment, the lying fox and fled the room, crying. 

---

"It-It-It was Marinette!” Lila sobbed, clinging onto Alya for support as the classmates gathered sympathetically around her. "She- She- She threatened saying that if I didn't- B- B- Back off, she'd make all my friends turn against me!" 

"What?" Alya was appalled. "When?" 

"J-Just now, in the locker room.” Lila hiccupped, wiping some of her 'tears’ away. 

"That's not possible.” Damian cut in, entering the room, having overhead the conversation as he was walking in. "I just saw Marinette.” Yes, and he also just saw Lila randomly and spontaneously start crying straight after running from the room. But he couldn't just say that- He had no proof. But he would be more careful next time, and he would get proof to clear his angel innocent. 

"Y-You're saying that just to c-c-cover for her.” Lila whimpered, beginning to sniffle again. 

"What's going on?" Marinette asked, breathless as she entered the classroom. Could it be that Lila already carried out her threat...? 

"Marinette! How could you say such things to Lila!" 

"Marinette! How could you?" 

"You're too much!" 

"D-Don't blame her, guys. She-She's just jealous of me." Lila sniffled. "Marinette, if you want, you can have your seat back." 

The round of protests and harsh comments at Marinette from the class arose again, and Marinette felt claustrophobic. They were being too loud. There were too many things being said at once. She could hear bits and pieces of everything that everyone was saying, and it was killing her inside. Then she heard his voice, flowing smoothly through every other single noise in the room. 

"I've got you, angel." 

Robin?

---

"Are you okay?" He asked her softly after escorting her out of the class. Seconds after the words left his mouth, he wanted to smack his head onto a wall. What a stupid question! Of course she wasn't!

"Y-Yeah. I'm fine." She hiccupped, trying to control her breaths, embarrassed about crying in front of someone as regal as Damian. Damian, who was always composed and cool- And she'd tried to get to his level, too. She wanted to be a cool friend who wouldn't embarrass him- Because she knew he wouldn't want that. 

"No, you're not. Cry it out." 

And she did. 

If Damian was born with a certain objective- Purpose- (Besides killing people, and he wasn't allowed to do that anymore)- Then he believed that he had fulfilled it, right then and there, with her, softly crying in his arms- Because he had never felt any less out of place than right then.

(Tag list! @yin-390 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @constancetruggle @the-navistar-carol @never-neverland @rayray384 @mystery-5-5 @black-streak @bluerosette23 @seraphichan @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @mikantsume @graduatedmelon @thebookwormfairy @crazylittlemunchkin @shizukiryuu @screamingtofillthevoid @serenacross200 @zestyzealot @redscarlet95 @roseinbloom02 @beautym3 @resignedcatservant @sizzling-fairy-oil @tinybrie @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry )

So this one’s a little bit short, but Chapter six is going to be a wilddddd ride, so hang on. 

#damianwayne #lifepurpose #marinettedupaincheng #lila that bitch I swear damian's going to roast you hard real soon #I will get the pleasure of writing that in the best way possible #miraculous ladybug #mlb #daminette #marinette my baby cried :( #batfamily #robin #lordbug #kittynoir #lordbugrobinandkittynoir

[amuletrebel]

Bring May Flowers (Ch. 15)

This is my favorite chapter! I waited so long! I listened to a playlist I have labeled as Romance for this chapter, and I legit almost started crying!

AO3 Link / FF.net Link

Prompt: Ridiculous Romantic Gestures

After the baking taboggle, Adrien decided to go all out to make it up to her. For the next couple days between visits, Adrien as Chat Noir prepared the excellent date plan. Sure it took a few close calls and using his hero persona to pull some strings, but Adrien made sure it would all be worth it in the end. He had to try extra hard to be tight-lipped about his plans whenever he saw Marinette at school. She smiled and laughed at him like usual, but he could see the blush that crept up her face whenever he even so much as mentioned anything that pointed to his alter ego. Seeing her reactions sent his heart skyrocketing. Oh yeah, it’ll definitely be worth it.

A couple nights of final touches and Chat was officially ready to show his pretty princess what he had planned to make up for the “Chat Blanc Incident” as they dubbed it. The hero leapt across the Parisian sky which sparkled with stars. He could even see a few constellations. Finally, he saw the light of her balcony. She was waiting for him as usual, reading a book with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair was down for a change, a neon green headband tucking any loose strands away from her delicate freckled face. This confused him somewhat. He had told her to be ready for an adventure the night before. Why wasn’t she ready?

Chat landed gracefully onto her banister and hopped down onto her balcony with a knightly bow. “Good evening, my princess~”

“Good evening, my knight,” Marinette greeted with a content smile.

“Are you ready for a grand, and possibly over-the-top, romantic night out with your knight?” He extended a gloved hand out to her, which she took without hesitation, the level of trust she held for him as both sides evident in her bluebell eyes.

“One second, minou.”

She took off her blanket and his breath hitched. She wasn’t wearing Chat-inspired clothes or her pajamas under the blanket. She wore a lilac cold shoulder top with black lace decorating neckline and bottom, paired with jean shorts bedazzled at the pockets and lilac flats with a tiny bow stitched into them. They practically looked three-dimensional, like real bows. The ensemble was finished with a cute neon green choker around her neck, a tiny silver bell attached to it. It didn’t make any noise, so she must’ve removed the ball. Chat couldn’t breathe. Is this what heaven looked like? Because if so, then he definitely died happy.

“Now I’m ready.”

Her melodious voice snapped him out of his daze. He shook his head, still gaping. “W-wow! You just… You look…amazing!” Come on, brain! You can do better than that! You’re Chat Noir; the smoothest cat in Paris!

Marinette giggled. “Thank you. It took a little bit of subterfuge for you not to find it, but your reaction made it worth it.”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be surprising you tonight.”

“There’s still time for that, mon chaton.” She playfully flicked his bell, causing a blush to rise to his cheeks.

“W-well, let’s go then!” he squeaked, mentally bashing himself for losing his cool. He was supposed to be romantic tonight, not a blushing incoherent mess!

Chat pulled her in close and held her bridal-style. It brought back memories of that first akuma attack, just before they started dating. Looking back, he was almost grateful for that akuma, helping him figure out his feelings for the fantastic girl behind the mask. Marinette secured her arms around his neck, nuzzling his chest. He kept his grip firm as he hopped across the night sky. It reminded him of that night Glaciator attacked, when he essentially ditched Marinette to plan a date for, well, Marinette. And he felt down for Ladybug not showing, so he decided to show Marinette his surprise date, unknowing that Ladybug did in fact show up in that moment. Adrien couldn’t believe how stupid he had been then. But now he had time to rectify those mistakes.

It might’ve been the source of his nightmare, but he wanted to turn it into a happy place. Chat brought her to the Eiffel Tower and set her down. “Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed, and led her by the hand. She followed him without a hint of doubt. “Okay. Open your eyes.”

When her bluebell eyes opened, they instantly widened in surprised. Marinette gasped at the sight. It wasn’t just any room she walked into. It was the famous apartment hidden inside the Eiffel Tower, decorated with flowers and candles. She could tell the candles were fake from the lack of burning wax, but from the smell, the flowers were very much real. Purple roses lined almost every inch. Marinette wasn’t someone who had an in-depth knowledge of flowers, but she knew that purple roses meant love at first sight and deep enchantment.

“Chat…” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. She turned around and through herself into Chat’s strong arms. “Thank you! It’s so beautiful!”

Chat chuckled, the vibrations of his chest making Marinette smile. “Well, Princess, this isn’t even the best part.” He moved out of the way and pulled out a small speaker, pressing play. Gentle music resounded around the room and Chat held out his hand once more. “Will the princess grace this undeserving knight with a dance?”

Marinette smiled and stepped closer, taking his hand. “Yes she will.”

Chat wrapped his other hand around the blunette’s waist while she placed her on his shoulder. The gracefully moved around the room, never bumping into anything or tripping. He twirled her a couple times and she laughed merrily. The world around them seemed to disappear, just the two of them remaining. Marinette laid her head on his shoulder and he used his arm to pull her closer, laying his head on hers as they danced. Even when the music ended and they were left in silent, the two lovers swayed gently to their own music; their heartbeats.

“I have one more thing,” the blonde muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Marinette pulled back in shock, but she wasn’t at all angry. “More? Chat, this is already ridiculously romantic! How could it possibly top this?”

Chat held her hand firmly in his, staring at her with such adoration in her green eyes that Marinette shifted in embarrassment. She never thought someone could love her as fully as Chat did. She hoped Adrien would’ve, but she realized that there probably wasn’t a chance of that.

“You underestimate me, Princess~” The black-clad hero took her out of the apartment and out onto the bridge, underneath the starry sky. She pulled her in close and pointed out into the distance at a bright star that didn’t have any other star twinkling around her. “See that star?” Marinette nodded. “Well, I managed to do a little research, and now that star is officially named Marinette.”

“What?” Marinette looked at him skeptically. “You’re kidding.”

Chat shook his head with a cheesy grin. “This cat puns. No kidding here.”

He pulled a piece of paper out from behind him and handed it to her. The blunette opened it and gasped. He really wasn’t kidding. It was right there, in official print. A star was named after her. The evidence of such a claim was right in her hands.

“Chat… You are the most ridiculously romantic cat I’ve ever met in my life.” Tears of joys flowed down her cheeks as she hugged the paper to her chest. “Why? Why go to such extreme lengths for me? I would’ve been fine with just the flowers or something.”

Chat laid his gloved hand on her cheek, brushing a loose strand of inky hair out of her face. His smile melted her heart and made it pick up speed all at once. “Because” he leaned down so their eyes could meet at the same level “I know a bright light when I see one. And I want to give her everything she deserves and more.” He bumped his forehead against herself gently, his smile never wavering. “I love you, Marinette. Let me love you as fully as I do.”

He leaned in and kissed her, which she happily reciprocated. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his hands settled on her waist. They shared a passionate kiss high above Paris. It really was the city of love, bringing two souls such as them together. They didn’t need anything else in that moment, just drowning in one another’s love.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#Marichat May #Marichat #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #story time

[bakubitch]

Hi there! I hope your having a good day! ^-^ may I request todoroki and tokoyami trying to confess to their crush? (if that's all right ^-^)

(you didn’t specify so I went w fem pronouns) i’m sorry if the todoroki ones so bad but i’ve had the tokoyami one written for so damn long i’m sorry this took so long

Todoroki

It all happened by accident, Shouto confessing to his crushand knocking her into the fountain.

All accidents, but he only regretted the latter.

It was Saturday and the pair sat on the edge of a fountainin the middle of a surprisingly vacant park. She had roped Shouto into going onthis group outing with a few of their classmates but she had messed up themeeting place landing them in the earlier mentioned vacant park.

Well it wasn’t completely vacant; there was a flock ofpigeons to the pairs left.

His crushes head sat in her hands, completely mortified thatshe had messed up something so simple.

Todoroki sat stiff a couple feet away, unsure how to comforthis crush. He thought it’d be best if he didn’t interfere, scared he’d somehowmake it worse. This didn’t actually work for him though since his crush came tohim with teary eyes, rambling on about her mistakes. Todoroki was too stunned toanswer, not by her emotions but by the fact that she could even think thatabout herself.

‘’I’m just omg, so fucking dumb I can’t believe I messed up somethingso simple! If I can’t read directions how am I supposed to be a hero cause I’llget calls and they’ll be like hey we need you here at I don’t fucking knowstreet cause there’s a giant cannibal on the loose and you’re the only hero whocan stop them but I won’t be able to cause I can’t read fucking directions andtheir gonna eat everybody! I’ll never get to show my face again and I’l-‘’

‘’You’re amazing and uh I’ll be there to read the directionsfor you so you’ll never get lost and I love you.’’ Todoroki seemed caught offguard by his own statement, surprised he had just said what he’d been hidingfor the past year aloud and to the one he’d been hiding it from.

She hadn’t realized it at first, laughing at his absurdcomment but it quickly died once she realized what came at the end.

The teens both turned a bright red, unsure how to continueafter Todoroki dropped that bomb.

‘’I uh, I love you too Todoroki-kun.’’ She swallowed; it washard to talk since her mouth was so dry.

Todoroki smiled awkwardly and went in for a hug but ofcourse that didn’t go so well. He had put too much weight into it and his crushwas still fairly disoriented from what just happened. She was sent back intothe fountain with a screech sending Todoroki into a panic.

He pulled her out and offered her his coat. She was soakedhead to toe and shivering like crazy.

‘’I’m so sorry I’m so fucking dumb are you ok?’’ His handshesitated over her shoulders for a couple seconds before he placed them down,gripping her gently.

All she did was laugh, wrapping the jacket tighter aroundher body.

‘’Hey Todo-k-un du-do you wanna go on a date with me?’’

Tokoyami

It had been a bad idea for Tokoyami to go to Ashido-san forhelp, sure she was just trying to be helpful but none of this really seemed hisstyle. That morning she had shoved a box of chocolates and an overbearingbouquet of red and white roses, a few bluebells scattered in it, into hishands.

Her smile encouraged him to confess big and bold manner buthis heart and brain told him it wasn’t the best idea, especially consideringwhat kind of person you were.

Shy with a mean face but kind under that hard shell,Tokoyami already knew how Ashido-sans plan would really pan out, you runningaway with a red face and locking yourself in your dorm out of embarrassment.

One time Uraraka commented on how cute she looked and thatwas the last they saw of her all day. She would completely overload and systemswould fry if she even saw Tokoyami walking her way with such a large gesturesitting in his hands so that’s how he ended up hiding them in a closet nearyour dorm.

Knock Knock.

‘’Come in!’’ She sang from the other side of the door, thesound of feet hitting the wooden floors crossed the dorm room.

Before Tokoyami could even open the door it was swung open,revealing his crush clad in her school uniform which was strange since schoolended three hours ago.

‘’Helloo Tokoyami-kun.’’ She hummed with wide eyes, clearlyin a cheerful mood. He looked passed her head, seeing text books lining thefloor in a semi-circle, paper strewn everywhere painting with bright colours.

She must’ve been studying for the upcoming test.

‘’Studying?’’ Tokoyami mentioned eyeing her messy room withthe tiniest hint of a smirk.

Her face went red, bringing up her hand to the back of herneck, ‘’Yeah, I’ve failed the last two so I really gotta step it up accordingto sensei.’’ She giggled, bringing warmth to Tokoyami’s heart.

‘’Do you need any help?’’ The offer left his lips before hecould even stop himself, truth be told he hadn’t done so hot on the past coupletests either so he shouldn’t be offering anyone help.

His crushes face instantly brightened with a rushed nod,‘’that’d be amazing Tokoyami-kun, it’s great that you popped by I’ve actuallybeen stuck on this one question for the past ten minutes.’’ She added the lastpart with a less enthusiastic mumble before stepping aside and letting thetaller boy in.

It had only taken three steps for disaster to strike, unseenby either of them was a half full cup of peppermint tea sitting forgotten inthe middle of the room.

Tokoyami’s foot collided with the cup sending the tea intothe air and all over the papers and text books lining the floor only a foot anda half away.

‘’I didn’t even see that there I’m so sorry!’’ He cried headwhipping from left to right searching for something to clean up the mess whilehis crush panicked to his left.

It took a couple seconds for her to remember the closet acouple dorms down from hers where they kept all the cleaning supplies.

That was the same for Tokoyami, but his mind wasn’t focusedon the cleaning supplies.

He looked to his left hopping she hadn’t left the room yetbut when he turned his head he found nothing but empty space.

‘’Fuuuuuck! Fuck! Fuck!’’

The four lettered word continued to fall from his mouth ashe sprinted the hallway, it seemed longer than usual, the walls closer, boxinghim in as his heart raced at an alarming rate.

He found his crush in the entrance to the small storagecloset, head in her hands steam practically spiralling off of her fingers andup to the ceiling. She was facing the bouquet and box of chocolates Mina hadgiven Tokoyami, her face was hidden behind her hands but he could tell it wasbeet red.

Tokoyami’s mouth hung wide open, hoping he could think of somethingclever or funny to fix the awkward situation but all that came out was ‘’I likeyour face.’’.

A strangled noise came from his crush as she uncovered herface, turning to the bird boy with a red face and watery eyes.

She choked out her response, mimicking Tokoyami’s blunt statementexactly, it seemingly being the only thing her brain could think of.

They later (like fiveminutes later) went on a date to the next supply closet since there weren’t actuallyany paper towels in the one the pair ended up confessing in, then they went for ice cream.

#todoroki shouto #fumikage tokoyami #tokoyami fumikage