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#i want to try out the outfits and jewelry and boots and take photos and make a tiktok and im so excited for this project

anonymousewrites · 1 month

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Adolescent Antichrist (Book 5) Chapter Seven

Father Figure! Lucifer x Teen! Reader

Demon! OC x Reader

Chapter Seven: Oblivious Gays

Summary: (Y/N) and their friends go to homecoming.

“You look fantastic, all of you,” said Lucifer, taking probably hundreds of photos of (Y/N) and their friends all dressed up for homecoming.

“Thanks, Dad,” said (Y/N), smiling.

They wore a black binder beneath a sheer top stitched with roses paired with a red suit jacket and black pants. Red heeled combat boots completed the outfit with black designs painted on.

“So, remember, everyone, have a good time but don’t do anything I’d do,” said Lucifer cheerfully.

“Birdie keeps us in line,” laughed Em. They wore an olive-green suit, but (Y/N) had attached bronze metal leaves around her neck and lapels.

“But we’ll keep your advice in mind,” said Leon, nodding. He wore navy pants, a white shirt, and a jacket that extended into a billowing tail like smoke.

“Still, we’re definitely gonna have a bit of fun,” laughed Marcel, hugging Leon’s arm excitedly. He wore a billowing blue shirt, the same hue as Leon’s coattails, and silver halter-styled jewelry.

“Don’t give poor (Y/N) a heart attack, they’ve been doing enough,” said Olive, shaking her head at Marcel. She wore a pink dress stitched in an old-fashioned style.

“Yes, (Y/N) has been very strong in the past few months,” said Lucifer, smiling at (Y/N).

They shrugged and looked away, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? You took on an angel. Twice. You’re better than fine, you’re awesome in my eyes,” said Noa, looping an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders affectionately. They wore a white jacket and pants with a corset top underneath.

“2-0!” cheered Olive.

“I’m not aiming for a third,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

“Please don’t,” said Em protectively.

“That wouldn’t be the best idea,” agreed Leon.

“Hopefully, my brother will retreat for good,” said Lucifer. “But I will handle the problem if he returns.” He smiled. He would defend (Y/N) as fiercely as they had done for him. He clapped. “But for tonight, enjoy yourselves and don’t think about such sour things!”

“Good idea,” said Noa, clapping Leon and Em on the shoulders. “Come on, sour-pusses, let’s go and party.”

“Bye, Dad,” said (Y/N), waving as Olive pulled them out.

“Have a nice night,” said Lucifer, raising a hand in a wave. After everything they’d gone through, they deserved a nice time.

“By the way, (Y/N), your designs turned out amazing,” said Olive, twirling.

“Yes, your work is always impressive,” said Leon. “But your work for today is better than ever.”

“I finally had some inspiration,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“We’re glad to have you back,” said Em, nudging them. “What would we do without the creativity and vivacity of our Birdie?”

“I think you mean ‘sass’ and ‘bull-headedness,’ ” teased Marcel.

“Ha-ha,” said (Y/N) sarcastically. “Go and dance if you’re going to be mean.”

“Just telling the truth,” chirped Marcel. He grinned. “But I do want to dance. Leon?” He extended a hand.

Leon glanced at it and nodded. He rose and took Marcel’s hand. Marcel happily dragged him away to the dance floor as “Murder on the Dancefloor” began to play.

“Not much of a romantic song,” said Olive.

“They’ll make do,” said Noa, smiling.

“They have been spending a lot of time together, recently,” said Em.

“More than usual,” agreed (Y/N). “I think Marcel kept asking Leon to help him study to flirt.”

“Not that it worked,” laughed Noa. “Marcel came over to my place and threw himself on my bed to complain that they’d spend the entire day reviewing French conjugation.”

“Was he trying to learn to flirt in Leon’s native language?” laughed Em.

“That plan backfired,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

“Not that anyone here can flirt any better,” said Olive.

Em turned red, and (Y/N) crossed their arms. Noa cocked their head.

“Huh?” said all three.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Olive. She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Come on, you three, no sense in sitting here moping. Let’s have a good time.”

“That’s what Lucifer would do, though,” joked Noa.

“Taking his example every once in a while isn’t so bad,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“How do you think they turned out so cool?” said Em. “Only a crazy guy like Lucifer could raise (Y/N).”

“That was less of a compliment than you thought it was,” laughed (Y/N), but they headed towards the dance floor with Em, Olive, and Noa.

“Maybe not,” teased Em, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand and dragging them to dance.

As the music played, the group danced and jumped, singing wildly along with the songs. It was nice to have a free moment with no stress or pressure, just fun and friends. After everything they’d been involved in, it was nice for (Y/N) to have a moment of peace. They were with their closest friends and their crush, swinging around to a great song with a smile on their face. It was fantastic.

They wished the moment would never end.

“Hey, guys?” called Noa over the music, which had switched to “Dance the Night.”

“What?” responded Olive.

“Marcel and Leon aren’t here,” said Noa. “I don’t know when they left.”

“Let’s go and look for them,” said Em.

“What if they’re just…having a good time?” said (Y/N).

Everyone stared at them.

“Yeah, no, I’m a busybody, let’s go,” said (Y/N).

Em laughed and led the group into the hall to try to find Marcel and Leon. They peered around, but all they found were some cliques uninterested in dancing hanging out.

“Oh, hey, guys, we thought you were still dancing,” said Marcel, rounding a corner and seeing them. Leon stood beside him, and they held his hand.

“We were. We didn’t realize you two had left,” said Olive. “But we shouldn’t have worried.” She grinned.

Leon coughed and looked away shyly. “We were just having a discussion.”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” said Noa, smirking.

“Good for you guys,” said Em, grinning.

“At least you two won’t be pining after one another again,” said (Y/N).

“And Marcel doesn’t have to ask for you to teach him French to try to flirt,” joked Noa.

Leon blinked. “That was an attempt to flirt? I thought he was failing French.”

Marcel sighed. “You beautiful, oblivious idiot.”

“I thought you said you liked me?” said Leon.

“I absolutely do,” said Marcel, squeezing Leon’s hand. “Even if you’re the hardest person to flirt with.”

“Oblivious gays,” said (Y/N), laughing. Still, that’s one couple down. They glanced at Olive and Noa. Hopefully those two will get a move on. They looked at Em. …I’m still a coward, so nope.

It seemed (Y/N) was also an oblivious gay idiot who didn’t realize that Em asking them to a dance twice could be interpreted as interest rather than friend being kind.

(Y/N) and Em waved at Noa.

“Thanks for dropping us off,” said Em.

“No problem,” said Noa, yawning.

“Don’t fall asleep, you still have to take me home,” said Olive from the front seat next to them.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get home safely,” said Noa, smiling.

“Bye,” called (Y/N) as they drove away. They crossed their arms and looked at Em. “Well, this explains why Marcel drove himself.”

“True, he knew he was making a move on Leon,” said Em, nodding. “So what do you think they’re up to now?”

“Marcel always talked about seeing the stars, so maybe a park. That would be a cute post-homecoming date,” said (Y/N).

“They’re going to be insufferably adorable now, aren’t they?” laughed Em as they walked inside.

“Probably,” agreed (Y/N) in amusement, dodging around the people in Lux. “But who knows, maybe it’ll get Olive and Noa to confess to each other.”

“They need to get a move on,” said Em. “It’s so obvious that it hurts.” Just like you not noticing my feelings for you.

“Right? Noa was texting me like crazy yesterday about how they weren’t sure how to confess since Olive is always flitting around saying hi to people and her others friends at school during homecoming and parties where she knows people,” said (Y/N), shaking their head. “Noa isn’t sure how to get that social butterfly alone for a second.”

“Olive is just as oblivious,” laughed Em. She held their phone. “She already texted me saying that she said she and Noa should go for a late-night drive before heading to bed and put on a gay love song and Noa is just singing along because it’s gay and not noticing Olive.”

“Let me guess, Olive is just staring at them because they’re that handsome to her?” said (Y/N).

“Yeah,” said Em, shaking their head and laughing. “Gay panic took over.”

“I guess we’ll have to get them alone with the right atmosphere,” said (Y/N), stepping into the elevator.

“What are you, a matchmaker?” said Em, pressing the button for the penthouse.

“Just someone tired of everyone pining,” said (Y/N). “At least Marcel took charge.” They groaned. “Olive and Noa are at least doing really well, but Dad and Chloe are having trouble again.”

“Michael’s fault?” said Em.

“Probably goes back to him, yeah,” huffed (Y/N), crossing their arms.

“Hey, relax, it’s like you always say, ‘it’ll work out,’ ” said Em, reaching out and touching (Y/N)’s arm.

“I’m usually bullshitting that stuff,” said (Y/N).

“And yet you’re always right,” said Em. Her other arm went out and she held (Y/N) firmly by the arms. “Chloe needs time to process being given immunity to Lucifer’s gift from God. Sound like a familiar situation?”

“…It sounds like her finding out he’s the devil,” admitted (Y/N).

“Exactly. And that just took time to process,” said Em. “It’s going to be fine.” They squeezed (Y/N)’s arms comfortingly and retracted them as the doors to the penthouse opened.

“I hope it works out soon,” said (Y/N). “I mean, I know they can’t be together since Lucifer has to return to Hell, but they both deserve to know about the other’s feelings. It’s clear they care about each other.”

“As clear as our friends liking each other,” agreed Em.

As clear as me liking you, thought (Y/N) and Em.

(Y/N) cleared their throat. “Listen, Em, we keep talking about others and their relationships, yeah?”

“We do,” said Em. “Because they’re idiots who just need to confess and be happy.”

“Right,” said (Y/N), facing Em completely. “But I think there’s a few more people who need to be honest.”

“Really?” said Em nervously. Am I about to be called out and rejected?!

Okay. Okay, you can do this. If you’ve faced the Goddess of all creation, you can do this! “Em, listen, I think you’re really great. Really. You’re my best friend,” said (Y/N).

“You’re my best friend, too,” said Em. They swallowed. Even if they were going to be just a friend to (Y/N), they deserved to know she cared. “And you are probably the best person I’ve ever met—even when you were a human.”

(Y/N) smiled. “Yeah. Even when we fought, I always respected you. And that’s why I want to be honest. Emeranne, I—”

“Hello, you two, did you have a good night?”

Em and (Y/N) jumped as Lucifer appeared from his room with a wide smile. Em turned red and groaned, turning away. (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, and their eyebrow twitched.

Lucifer blinked, clueless to what he had interrupted. “Is everything alright?”

(Y/N) turned to face him, and the shadows raised around them.

“U-Uh, (Y/N)?” said Lucifer hesitantly.

“You’re the most annoying parent I’ve ever met,” said (Y/N), the shadows lashing out around them as they stomped away.

Lucifer looked at Em. “What did I do?”

Em just groaned, still flustered, and buried their red face in their hands. So close!

Taglist:

@sammyscreencaps-13

@grippleback-galaxy-galaxy

@scarlettqueen190

@ziro-the-null-god

@sammy-13

@zeros-rot

@ceridwyn3

@technikerin23

@poetoflawed

@slytherinroyalty16

@ilse235

@theurbannoodle

@lookitseddie

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daeyeol4you · 9 months

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The Chay Rewatch Ep 8

Ep 1 & 2, Ep 3, Ep 4, Ep 5, Ep 6, Ep 7

Ep 8 - Chay flies his red flag

Okay this one has nothing to do with ep 8 but rather a thing about ep 7’s Chay Outfit I just realized!

Chay’s shirt said Vendredi which means Friday in French. Well, when else have we connected Chay to Fridays? It's so blink and you miss it! In ep 4, Kim sings “Your laughter that makes me feel like it’s Friday” as Chay watches on from the crowd. I’ve already gone into how this song foreshadows the KimChay relationship and Kim’s inevitable heartbreak-induced songwriting, but that shirt being a direct callback to that song is so intense to me! (I also was totally not rewatching that ep at 2 am that is so not relevent)

Chay’s shirts are such a treasure trove I’m obsessed, costuming I am your biggest fan

Time: 18:55 – 20:59 – Kim Take Up Coloring

I want to know the point of these maps so bad, are they territory lines or areas Kim can go without running into Chay (since he’s in his first ignore his own feelings and Chay era)

Kim also has an old-fashioned gramophone and records, which is definitely something he and Chay bonded over during their many not-dates

Kim’s outfit: A blue, gray, and black colorblock overshirt with a plain white shirt underneath as well as his silver jewelry, this time with a corded silver chain that I adore.

The pictures they chose for the parents’ photos make them seem like socialites

The way I always forget we get the dad’s name too. Chayapat, wild

“Do you watch too many movies?” – you say just before you blurt out the most telenovela plot idea ever of the mom being your father’s mistress

I wonder how much Kim thought about that, the idea that Porsche & Chay could be his father’s kids. Maybe that’s another reason for Kim to start ignoring Chay. He knows he’s falling for Chay, but he’s trying to keep his feelings from developing further until he knows

I don’t like the pseudo-incest plotline that comes in later on, mainly because we’d already seen KinnPorsche fuck nasty a billion times, but also because there’s no setup outside of this one comment from Kim. If they really wanted to commit pseudo-incest, there needs to be a much more intricate setup

Does Kim really want to move on from investigating Porsche? Or does he just want to run away from his feelings for Chay?

Okay the phone call – I’m 99% sure that’s Chay calling, especially since we know Chay asks why Kim’s dodging his calls. I compared the Thai spelling of his name to the name on the phone, and I think it's similar. Who else would Kim be ignoring like that?

Kim looks pissed when he goes back to his coloring. Mad at himself for developing feelings for Chay? Mad at himself for ignoring Chay? Emotional constipation in general?

Time: 35:40 – 38:12 – Chay pulls a Kim

I have so many questions about how Chay found Kim’s apartment. Kim most certainly did not bring him there, so Chay had to do some stalking. His excuse that he asked a friend is so paper thin. Kim would never bring a friend home, and which one would Chay ask?

He probably already knew from his Wik obsession but knew that going there was a big no. Now tho? He has an excuse to show up at Kim’s unannounced like Kim did to him

The MC friend doesn’t seem close to Kim, judging by how when Kim actually rolls up to class, he gives him the news about Chay he could have texted meaning he doesn’t know how to contact Kim or just isn’t close enough to do so. The rehearsal space friend is more plausible, but I digress

KimChay really is Stalker for Stalker

Kim’s Outfit: A really cute pumpkin-colored jacket with a black shirt and pants combo. I really like his black leather boots. They seem way more function than fashion. A new silver chain but his usual rings and earrings I think

Chay’s Outfit: another plaid shirt look that so works for him. I like to call this Chay’s angel look. He’s in a cream-colored plaid shirt with faint blue and orangish details as well as a white shirt. White Converse too. His silver pendant has some kind of design but I can’t tell what.

The lighting and set really paint Chay as the light and Kim as the dark. You’ve got Kim whose legs blend into the dark colors of the foyer and then Chay who stands as a bright beacon in the street under the sun. He’s not involved in the mafia yet, so he remains a bright, unrestrained light.

Chay’s cute little stance as he bamboozles Kim (& he def bamboozles Kim). He’s just so excited to see his target- sorry his crush!

I love the emotions Kim inadvertently shows during this scene. He’s so cold, but you can tell he’s so caught off guard by Chay and his genuine feelings, and he’s so heart eyes about Chay’s red flags. He’s still being a dick trying to brush Chay off, but you also see his hard-shell cracking

Chay you are so accidentally freaky I love you

Chay, to me, is so powerful. He sees the brush off Kim is trying to give him, but he stands his ground. He’s no people pleaser, and I don’t think he’s doing this to keep Kim’s romantic attention. He’s fully aware of the opportunity being tutored by someone like Kim is, because he’s a kid that always had to scrape by. Letting this go without a fight, without doing everything he could to keep it is not something he’s hardwired to do

Chay’s really funny – the guitar stand bit made me giggle (him being funny, hopeful, or happy often is mislabeled as him being childish or naïve but I digress y’all know my thoughts on that)

I’m sorry but the name on the sign behind Chay being ‘The Mystery,’ no wonder Kim lives there

Chay’s so talented, raw but talented. Clean up the song a bit, give him some vocal training, and you’ll have a really catchy song and probably will do numbers online

Excuse you Mr. Security guard man! Can you not see he’s trying to serenade someone! Also why choose now to interrupt and not at the beginning? Bro decided to give him a chance at least lol

And now he places the ball in Kim’s court. Chay may be a touch obsessive and freaky, but he knows what lines he can and can’t cross. Asking Kim to tell him what he thinks and immediately leaving gives Kim space as well as leaving an open dialogue

Kim’s face as Chay walks away shows how conflicted he feels. He is aware that he’s developing feelings for Chay, but he’s also doubly aware that something fishy is going on within his family. He has so much conflict because Kim’s not an emotional person. He cares about his brothers (and that’s from a distance), and he’s suspicious of his father that’s it. Kim has to grow as a person if he wants to love Chay

Overall Chay Rating (Chrating): A

This ep has my favorite Chay and Kim outfits I won’t lie. I love how they (on purpose or not) match the set as well as who these two characters are at this point in time. Chay is still completely unaware of the mafia so he stays in the light while Kim is entrenching himself in his family’s secrets and trying to push Chay away leaving him in the dark. Chay also shows how much of a fighter he is. He's a strong independent character! He's emotionally mature and capable of making his own decisions! He isn’t going to let Kim slink away without at least being able to say he did everything he could. He’s letting them either end on a completed note for Chay or continue to grow closer if that’s what Kim wants. Chay always allows others to have a choice in what they do next, we’ve seen this with Chay backing down after Kim seems uncomfortable & here where Chay leaves without making Kim answer him before he’s ready. This episode also begins to drop hints that Nampueng is more important to Korn than previously thought. Damn, I wish the Kimspiracy Board had actually had a real hold on the plot instead of being inevitably useless and forgotten.

#kprewatch2023 #kimchay #kinnporsche the series #kinnporsche #porchay kittisawat #porchay pichaya kittisawat #kim theerapanyakul

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euphorial-docx · 1 year

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a breakdown of opev reg’s style evolution because i felt like talking about it :)

PART 1: OGNI PARTE E VIVA🍊

in opev, regulus didn’t truly develop a sense of style yet. he was still trying to figure himself out, and figure out a way to express that in ways he was comfortable.

regulus mostly dressed for comfort in opev.

in the warm seasons, he’d wear a lot of loose button ups and t-shirts, shorts or swim trunks. he most of the time wore a pair of converse, and sometimes sunglasses. in the colder seasons, he wore standard cold weather things like sweaters, jeans, gloves, hats, etc etc. he also rewears outfits often.

there were times where he would show some of his personality in his outfits. the things he truly did style were: his hair, his jewelry (namely the star of david necklace), and the occasional band t-shirt. his clothes usually are cool tones, such as blues and cool greens, as well as neutrals like white and black. outside of those things, he dressed pretty generically.

i feel his style reflects the music he listened to at the time. opev regulus was on the new wave train from the start, being a fan of the talking heads and joy division early in their careers. while joy divison was dark in tone, talking heads was relatively upbeat and a more familiar band to regulus as they’d been around longer than joy division.

my inspirations for his outfits was, very unsurprisingly, elio from call me by your name. although i did stray away from the polo shirts, because i didn’t think opev regulus would really wear those. i wanted to keep a sense of put togetherness despite his lack of personal style by having him wear loose button ups a lot and take care of his hair.

there is only one instance in opev where regulus has a chance to dress up a little bit, and that’s when he and james go to an art gallery. regulus wears a button up shirt, jeans, and a jean jacket.

good elio references i looked at a lot for opev:

PART 2: TEMPS SANS FIN🌃

i know we haven’t dived too much into the sequel yet, but oh boy do i have plans for his fashion there.

between opev and tsf, regulus has developed a true sense of self and a sense of fashion of his own. part of that was from his experiences in university, where he dated a musician named chiara who got him more into the new wave/goth music scene. another part was simply him getting older and living independently.

in the 70s regulus dressed for necessity and with a vague new wave influence, and in the 80s he expanded on that a bit.

i’d describe his 80s style as predominately new wave with a bit of goth and new romantics thrown in there.

he has kept with his loose button ups, but has traded his converse for boots and began to experiment a little more with accessories. necklaces, rings, and yes even earrings and nail polish have made their way into his outfits. he’s also began to use makeup, albeit just a little, when it comes to his eyes, reminiscent of the goth and new romantics influences he’s gathered.

his hair has changed over the years, and he’s started doing a variation of the wavy pompadour/elephant trunk hairstyle popular among the new wave scene as well as more mainstream scenes. i imagine the hairstyle to be a bit like duckie’s from pretty in pink, but mostly like elio’s hair in the epilogue of cmbyn.

as i said for part 1, music greatly inspires opev regulus’s style. in the 80s, his edge of goth and new romantics comes from the music he started listening to. he leaned more into goth in the 80s with his love for bands such as the cure (at least early the cure), depeche mode, bauhaus, echo & the bunnymen, and the smiths— he also kept up his love for joy division, while his passion for talking heads faded a bit as they wandered more into pop territory.

inspirations i have for regulus include: john taylor, steve jansen, a little bit of john koviak and robert smith, but heavy with the john taylor

photo inspo (most of which are john taylor. i’m sorry. his outfits are just almost exactly what i picture reg wearing in the 80s.)

#i hope there aren’t spelling mistakes here bc i won’t fix them #fic: ogni parte è viva (every part is alive)#fic: temps sans fin (time without end)

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trixxiephantomhive · 1 year

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@mintaka14 tagged me in this, but I forgot to do it yesterday

Rules: Pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the midpoint, pick a line (or a few), and share it! Then tag people!

(My tags are @heartwithavacancy (Idk anyone else who hasn’t done it yet)

There’s no order here:

I Still Remember… | 958 words | One Shot | Miraculous Ladybug Lukanette

The next day, Marinette spends hours trying to pick out the right outfit, and eventually Settles on a red blouse with long flowing sleeves, and a white skirt that rests right above her knees.

Tikki smiles and grabs a cookie as they head out to have a nice night with a bunch of friends, and to enjoy the beginning of holiday season

Once she arrives, Alya hops up to give her a hug, along with greetings from all her friends. It seems as if almost everyone from their school is here.

After taking in the amazing smells of food, and the beautiful decor, she sits down with the group and joins in on a goofy conversation. At that moment, Luka walks in, holding the door open for the sweet blonde Zoe.

I watch your eyes as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky

Best Dressed (Not Really) | 271 words | Part Of the Stoner!Luka Series | Miraculous Ladybug, Lukanette

He smirks at her and shakes his head. "Not to ruin the illusion or anything, but I'm wearing a clip on bowtie, my pants are a size too short. I'm wearing boots that slightly resemble dress shoes, and from the scrunch of your nose I can imagine I reek of weed." He looks away, somehow laughing and ashamed of himself.

Let’s Avoid Getting Caught- |248 words | Part of the Fugitives AU and August Minific Challenge series | Miraculous Ladybug Lukanette

Marinette on the other hand, deals with a kind female detective. With long blonde hair and a nice smile.

Marinette tries her best to be vague, and avoids answering anything serious. Once both parties are alone, they both transform into ladybug and Viperion. Already having managed to scrub the source of their power on the internet, the simple pieces of jewelry had been left on them.

The two vigilantes use their strength to break their handcuffs and put their earbuds in to communicate.

If I could run away | 599 words | Part Two of a Fic, From the August Minific Series | Miraculous Ladybug LuMarc

“We should run away.”

“Why?”

“You don’t have to come. I’d still see you somehow.”

“Why?” Marc rolls over to look at the beautiful boy next to him. The one that keeps talking about dying his hair and collects bugs.

“My Ma hates me, My sister is annoying. I hate everything except you. I want to be free”

“We’re free like this, when we’re here!”

“I know marc… It’s not enough for me”

Be Gone Banjo | 211 Words | August Minific | Miraculous Ladybug, Lukanette | Banjo salt fic

Steve Martin continues to respond in a series of curse words in awful musical chords. Luka walks around the banjo and glares at it, making an aggressive punching motion, summoning all of the angry pirate in him

Lonely: A Hungover Heart Chapter 1 | 1162 words | Multi Chapter work, finished | Miraculous Ladybug Lukanette endgame

It takes my brain a minute, but I realize it’s Marinette and when I do, I jump off my couch and pull my hoodie on. “Ma-ma-marinette?'' I half stutter from shock, then realize I made a joke, and force out a chuckle to cover my fear.

A Flowerful Mystery | 263 words | August Minific Challenge | Miraculous Ladybug Lukanette

The girl blushes at her smirking boyfriend. “Yeah yeah. Now what did you want?”

“Oh, I was wondering about all your printed photos of flowers?”

“Someone used to leave flowers on my balcony as a teen. I always Assumed it was Chat Noir or Kagami. Neither ever fessed up though.”

These are some Wips bc why not:

The Abduction of Luka Couffaine | 8277 words so far | WIP multi Chapter | Miraculous Ladybug Lukanette Endgame

Luka gets his deliveries going out and takes off, He drops off a few pizza’s when he checks the next address. He thinks it’s strange, Luka is fairly sure that’s an abandoned house on the edge of his delivery area. He shrugs it off and heads out that way, but when he knocks on the door he’s greeted to a baseball bat to the head from the back, Knocked out. A hooded person begins to drag him through basement doors into this old building.

The Librarians and The Vampire Slayer | 940 words so far| Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Librarians Crossover

“How is the library not prepared for Vampires? This seems like it would’ve been a more common event” The small boy with an Australian accent complains, while the red haired girl looks at him and goes to correct. “We’re prepared for the vampires well documented in books, and so many different ways to kill them. But as you saw, these won’t die. Or we’re not strong enough, which is unlikely.”

When The Stars Fall Silent: A deaf!Luka au| 1855 words so Far | Miraculous Ladybug Lukanette

Juleka frowns and walks away, Anarka greets him with an aggressive shoulder pat. Nothing happens during the rest of the night, up until the next morning when Anarka gets a phone call, from the otolaryngologist she had given her information and Luka’s too. Making an appointment for the late afternoon.

(This one made me look up a lot of words so far)

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omiramotakiart · 2 years

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Cause at least two people have asked me directly to talk of how I design clothes (in fantasy at least) I will try to break my mental process down (do not take this as a tutorial though)

Let's use my girl Alheya , a dwarf from an island that contains a fair amount of elven interaction and has elven ancestors. Let's break this first bit down.

Thinking of the character, their personal taste is the main focus however thinking what outfit they can affor and is practical to them is also good. Alheya loves fashion and crafting, lives in the "warm" region of an ice wasteland, not particularly rich but doing well enough on her own, so her outfit has to reflect that. She won't have the fanciest of things but some nice green stockings are a luxury she can allow herself, next to the standard undergarments.

Layering, not necessary to draw all layers though it can help with understanding the garment so it looks wearable, in my mind it goes: chemise > stockings > petticoat. That is for this character. You can adapt this to whatever order and whatever clothes you wanna give your character. The more layers the more bulk.

What makes sense for the world. Not that you have to make an elaborate worldbuilding doc or whatever, just going back to the first part of what makes sense for the character. Alheya lives on a colder region so classic thick dwarven attire and boots will do, though I did use patterns common in elven dresses for her. You can take inspiration from all sorts of places (mine was the cliche fantasy viking trope), references are always good, consider this the base of the outfit that you can leave alone if you want.

If not, add the accessories. Maybe another piece of clothing (layers upon layers help in fantasy), some jewelry, coats, cloaks, shawls, whatever you think will fit well.

Color palette? You can generate one (there are plenty of sites for that), pick it from an image, make it on the spot, if you like it and it works well then go ahead, while color theory does help (another can of worms) who am I to stop you from ignoring it?

While yes you normally should avoid tons and tona of details since it makes it confussing and hard to draw, don't pretend as if minimalism is your only option. If you are drawing the same character over and over again (like animation or comics) you may wanna lose some of the details, you'll have more free range in single illustrations, though if you have a deadline it'll take extra time if your character has tons of elements to draw.

For historical stuff. Look at fashion plates of the era, photos if they had them, any real record, then you decide how much you wanna keep from them, if you want it to be historically accurate or vaguely inspired.

First picture is me trying to adapt the outfits mote accurate depictions (on my limited knowledge), the second is an overall 1850s-ish looking dress yet sea themed and probably wouldn't have been made back in the day.

Contemporary stuff? I literally copied the outdit from two photos on pinterest, you can get away with almost any fashion choice.

Fanart but don't wanna copy the outfit the character already has? Look for references to figure out their style and how people dress in that universe.

At least that's how I do these stuff

#character design

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thehayleytake · 1 year

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The Best Party Shoes for Holiday 2022

If you are a shoe person or shoe collector like me, the holidays are a delight because designers often release their most creative designs around the holiday season. I love looking at different designer’s holiday collections and seeing which party shoes I would like to add. Whether you are needing a pair for your upcoming holiday party or to add to your wishlist, this list will has 8 amazing shoes that would either be a conversation piece at your upcoming holiday party or a delight to open underneath the Christmas tree.

Cheers to this Holiday 2022- Here are some of my favorite holiday shoes to kick it off right!

1. Jimmy Choo Satin Saeda 100 Fuchsia Satin Pumps with Crystal Embellishment, $1095

Photo Credit: us.jimmychoo.com

With its punchy hot pink satin fabric and estate jewelry mimicking ankle strap, these gorgeous heels has a delicate crystal chain that have the look of a tennis bracelet, and and a dangling charm on the side and the top of the heel. Perfect for dancing the night away!

Keep the rest of your outfit minimal- try this LBD. They can also be worn with an oversized sweater and slightly oversized denim. Nonetheless, your shoes will be a standout and a conversation piece wherever you where them!

2. Aquazurra Tequila Plexi Sandal in Red, $810

Photo credit: aquazurra.com

Cha Cha Cha! These stunners just scream party and have a somewhat tropical vibe. They also com in Yellow, Blue, Black, Green, White and Pink (in case you want to get all of them!), all on the web at various discounted prices.

Pair it with this flouncy white party Self Portrait Dress for your next holiday party. For getting coffee, it is great with this striped sweater, these wide leg Joes Jeans, and the sandals peek through every time you take a step. Chef’s Kiss!

3. Lauren Ralph Lauren Gabriele Metallic Leather Sandal $135

Photo Credit: ralphlauren.com

A strappy, wearable shoe that looks more expensive without breaking the bank and has the look of upscale designers, thanks to the croc-embossed finish. One that you will pull out for many future occasions! It a 3.4 in heel (90 mm) has the look of high end shoes like the Jimmy Choo Azia but with more of a metallic finish.

This is probably the most wearable shoe on the list. Some of the most interesting ways to wear it include an all white look, (adding a hat makes it ever more put together) or with any jewel toned dress or gown.

4. Loeffler Randall Penny Gold Mule, $316

Photo Credit: loefflerrandall.com

Mules have never been one of my favorite styles- they can be hard to wear, they always fall off of your feet, and many are just flat out unflattering. But this one is different. It has been around for a few seasons but it deserves a special honor because it is incredibly special and is a must have in every woman’s wardrobe. Known as the Penny, it has become an icon, with celebrities such as Margot Robbie as fans and many less expensive lookalikes on the market. It also comes in a metallic white called Almond, a dusty pink called Beauty, a rusty burnt red called Terracotta, Platinum, Dark Silver, and Black. It has a 3.5 inch heel hight. It also comes in a lower heel height version called the Emilia with only 2 inches of heel height. The Penny really takes the cake with the higher heel height, it’s lower heel Emilia cousin seems almost pointless.

Loeffler Randal’s website is having the Something Special Sale going on right now, with 20% off all shoes, and the Penny has an additional 20% on top of that, taking it down to the unbelievable price of $252.80- it never gets better than this. I have seen it at 25% off at Bloomingdales and Nordstrom in the past, taking down to $295.

In terms of dresses, this one has dramatic balloon like sleeves, leaving the gold heels as a dramatic finish.

5. Fendi Gold Nappa Leather High Heeled boots, $1950

Photo Credit: Fendi.com

Fendi has some of the most interesting and unexpected shoes on the market, one of which being this shoe. This special heel, a continual theme throughout their latest collection, with kitten heels, and other boots it various colors and finishes (including a gorgeous tall black boot and these equally amazing black velvet bootie. With a striking gold finish and invisible heel, these shoes are truly unexpected and stunning.

For a daytime look, add these wide leg Derek Lam cropped sailor pants in black or these black coated flared Joes Jeans and a band tee.

Another way to style these is to pair with these or these Spanx leggings for another cool girl look.

6. Jimmy Choo Aveline 100 Bow-Detailed Satin Sandals, $995

Photo Credit: netaporter.com

Jimmy Choo never fails to deliver with a standout shoe like this one for their holiday collection. With strategic bow placement and a vivid fuscia silk satin fabric, this shoe is extremely feminine, eye catching, and incredibly festive. Add this festive little black dress with embellished straps to set the stage for the shoes, or this other black a-line black dress with dotted pearls for a statement.

7. Christian Louboutin Sandale Du Desert 100 Satin Sandals, $995

Photo Credit: netaporter.com

Christian Louboutin never fails when delivering creativity and innovation with every collection, each having a unique backstory to the the creative process of its development. Named the Greekabas collection, the collection is is inspired by Louboutin’s travels throughout the grecian seas and to Athens.

This sandal was a standout from the collection. With gorgeous silk satin fabric and big ankle bows it call to attention to the smallest parts of the leg with dramatic bows in a punchy, saturated yellow.

For your next black tie holiday soire, pair it with this festive black LaMarque ostrich feather dress. Dress it down post holiday by pairing it with this polka dot Zimmerman Dress for next spring/summer and many more years to come.

8. Mach and Mach Double Crystal Bow Heels, $995

Photo Credit: shopbop.com

Known as the post-pandemic shoe of 2022.

Favorites of celebrities Dua Lipa, Joan Smalls, and Sophia Vergara, and the Kardashians the line was started in 2012 by Tblisi, Georgian sisters Nina and Gvantsa Macharashvili, with their line having a continual theme of jewel encrusted, breathtaking, Cinderella-vibes shoes. They even have a shoe that is red and jewel encrusted, like a modern Ruby slipper.

An interesting way to pair their bestselling double bow heel in pink would be with these tops and bottoms for an out and about pajama-inspired look.

What are your favorite festive, party shoes? Ones that you have in your closet, or ones that you want in your closet? Leave in the comments below!

#fashion #shoes #party shoe #loeffler randall #JimmyChoo #ChristianLouboutin #holiday 2022 #statement shoe #aquazurra #ralph lauren #lauren ralph lauren #shoesaddict #shoe vibes #Fendi

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ribcage-rodents · 2 years

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An unedited Drabble I wrote bc I’m having a hard time tonight. TW: Alluding to self destructive behavior

When I woke up it felt as if no time had passed, as if I had rested my eyes for simply a few minutes but the shift in the world proved me wrong. It was the minute details that tipped me off to the months or years that have passed, my mother’s roosters have been removed from the kitchen and replaced with decorative blue bowls, my school photos were replaced with someone I don’t recognize.

My room is filled with my hobbies and the childhood interests I never grew out of. A stranger scrutinizes reflections in the mirror surrounded by sketches lovingly collected from friends they don’t know. Posing in an outfit I don’t recognize, their hair short and scruffy rather than long and tangled like my own. The freedom of split ends brushing shoulders signifies a loss of familiarity.

I follow them through my life like a ghost, uncertain how no one had noticed that they had replaced me. Then again my routine has changed so much I’m not sure if it’s mine anymore. They don’t go to school, it's the summer and they've graduated. They have nowhere to go and a plan in shambles. They work everyday and joke easily with my coworkers, then go home and sleep. And yet they’ve reached new levels of burnout unknown to myself. They know more about my parents fights and relationship, they’ve given up on mediating tensions between my family. They don’t isolate like I do, because they don’t have anyone to isolate from. They don’t talk to my friends except two, my eldest sister, a pillar of strength and for them a fragile tower. They don’t share everything with my sister like I usually did, they love and trust her as I do but never see her but hear of her problems. They know that the things that upset me and the issues they struggle with now are childish and melodramatic. The other was frequently talked to but rarely seen by my best friend. They only ever text to share the newest threat to survival, a rough shift, a moment of pain.

They don’t hide as much as I did yet they have more to hide. I guess because they spend most of their time away from the prying eyes of loved ones they do not worry as much as I did. They wear less bandaids then I do but they weigh less.

On my old desk sits a lacy pink bralette, something I would love to have, they are going to return it tomorrow. It’s not comfortable enough to use as a shirt and they never leave the house but for work so they’d never use it. New boots are by the door, the tag still on as they haven’t decided yet to keep them, they searched for months to find the exact pair they wanted and yet can’t be sure. The guilt of spending money is familiar to me but the shoes I wouldn’t fight for, they are clunky and not heeled. We both feel like traitors to my other shoes sitting lonely in my closet.

The bedside table is decorated the same except for a few new plants and an orange bottle with a much higher dosage than I take. They scroll through photos of them posed in my mirror until they reach the shots of my friends. Donned in eccentric make-up looks and clothes they never get the opportunity to wear I smile at my phone, my dearest friends around me. I can feel them ache and wonder why they can mourn for people they never knew, to mourn for me, a stranger they always despised. In turn I look at them and try to imagine the events that could’ve turned me into them. We are so similar it’s hard to see a difference; shorter hair, less colorful clothes, eye bags rather than extravagant eyeshadows. And yet we wear the same jewelry, we talk the same way, we hate the same things about our reflections, we care too deeply for our friends, compulsively controlling.

I don’t know how I ended up like this, staring at a more twisted version of myself. Watching through a window as the person in control of my body desperately splashing to stay above the rising water, new piercings and style to help find solace in who they want to take over next. The newest version of us will be cooler and therefore happier or at the very least stable. I can feel the graves of the ghost whose body I stole months ago rot in their dusty coffins.

#my work #i’m upset #my writing #idk who i am #dissociative episode

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theolsentimes · 3 years

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Mary-Kate Olsen's Singular Style

She came to fame as a twin, but the actress's cultish look is entirely her own. Here, with Lauren Hutton, she pays homage to another fashion inspiration, Grey Gardens. Written by Laura Brown, with photography by Peter Lindbergh (Harper's Bazaar, 2007)

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Mary-Kate Olsen may be the only young actress who breezes into her local Starbucks wearing towering, fashion-fierce Balenciaga boots, who arrives at her latest premiere (in Mary-Kate's case, for the new season of Showtime's Weeds, in which she plays a devout Christian with a pot fetish) sporting an oversize cross, and whose favorite band is Led Zeppelin. She may, in fact, be the only young actress who knows who Led Zeppelin is. MK, as she is known to her friends and family, is also a punctual and professional sort. She arrives for a poolside tea in Los Angeles 10 minutes early, ordering a hot chocolate while explaining her fetish for all things sweet — "I'm a candy girl, like Tootsie Rolls and Swedish Fish" — and objecting when the waiter tries to take the sugar bowl away. She is wearing a nautical striped T-shirt (her mom's, from the '70s), tucked into two black Wolford slips rolled down and turned into a tight, Robert-Palmer-video-style mini, and multicolored sparkly Christian Louboutin stilettos. She's just had her hair colored, returning to a sunnier shade after some experiments with both peroxide ("I woke up one morning and was like, I want white-trash hair today") and the dark side (an auburn-haired near-Goth moment last year). She's carrying a large black fringed leather Prada tote — she doesn't do small bags — and her fingers are covered with rings, most notably two vintage coiled gold snakes stacked on top of each other. ("They remind me of twins, sort of double headed.") Altogether, the effect is less her famed "bag-lady chic" than an edgy, body-conscious, and, yes, sexy silhouette. If she weren't 21, she could be 40. And French.

Few people need reminding that Mary-Kate — with her twin sister, Ashley — literally crawled into celebrity aged nine months (courtesy of Full House) and has not been out of the spotlight ever since. She has been a celebrity for more than two decades. Perhaps that's one reason she seems as if she came out of the womb worldly, the textbook old soul. "Yeah," she says with a small shrug. "I get that a lot." With all of that attention and all of the money (her and Ashley's company, Dualstar, has famously become a "billion-dollar business"), Mary-Kate could easily have ended up the type who wears pink terry cloth and carries a variety of small dogs. "Could you imagine?" she says with the politest version of a snort. "No way." She credits her exceptionally close-knit family (she has five siblings) and, interestingly, early stardom with helping her keep her perspective. "I think it helped that I started in front of the camera, so it didn't come as a shock. If I was a teenager and was thrown into the spotlight, I don't know how I would react, to be honest." Though the tabloids are all too keen to brand her a skinny, nervous deer in the headlights, in person Mary-Kate is easy in her skin, confident and surprisingly tactile, curling up in her seat and touching you on the arm to make a point. She laments the generic style of most actresses and cites only men as style inspirations: "Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp. Men, they just dress the way they want, and they don't think about Who Wore It Best." She doesn't much care for Who Wore It Best, noting she avoids those pages by "wearing vintage so often. I just dress the way I feel instead of looking for what's the new handbag." If Mary-Kate and Ashley have their way, more people will be wearing clothes and carrying bags the way they do. They have just shown the fifth collection of their ready-to-wear line, the Row, and recently launched a contemporary label, Elizabeth and James, named after a sister and a brother. The Row's holiday collection (in stores next month) is a slick mix of skinny leather pants, razor-cut blazers, butter-soft, slouchy tees, and a destined-to-be-cultish pullover fur. Lauren Hutton, who stars in the Row's Spring '08 look book, says, "The clothes are extraordinary. A man I was with just loved them. The pieces are just so genius, soft like a baby's skin. Simple minimalist stuff, but really spectacular." Mary-Kate, designer, faces an interesting challenge. She has to marry Dualstar — which has made its fortune selling tween-tastic DVDs and pastel Mary-Kate and Ashley T-shirts at Wal-Mart — with her increasingly edgy and subversive taste. Dualstar executives, some of whom have worked with her since she was a child, often nag her, mom-style, about pulling her hair back "or wearing a color," she says with a laugh. "I had this event recently, and I was like, They're going to be so happy that I'm wearing ... purple. I actually have to think about those things, though, you know, so I don't get trashed." Get trashed sometimes she does. Hutton says, "Once in a while, she'll wear something and I'll think, Oh, baby doll, take another look. But to have the bravery, to take the chance to do that, is pretty wonderful. She is making her own way, which is hardly ever done in Hollywood." Of Mary-Kate's penchant for gigantic Balenciaga heels, Jenji Kohan, the creator of Weeds, says, laughing, "I'd be like, 'It's Tuesday. Do you really want to be wearing those shoes?' But she pulls it off." Designer Giambattista Valli, a friend, says, "She likes to take risks, but because she has such strong personal style, she always manages to make it work. Even if she had nothing on, she'd have style." And MK chic is spreading. "Sometimes I'll look at people or at a magazine and I'll do a double take because I'm like, Oh, my God, that's my outfit, but that's not me," Mary-Kate says. Playing with her wire-rimmed aviators, she jokes wryly that she should have bought shares in Ray-Ban. (She and Chloë Sevigny pretty much brought back white '80s Wayfarers.) She tends to fall in love with a look, then wear it until she's done. "If I put together a good outfit, I'll wear it for three days and then switch it up with a blazer," she says. "I still love my vintage jeans, my tights, and my pants, though." She didn't start wearing heels, in fact, until a couple of years ago: "I kept watching Ashley walk around in them so gracefully, and I'm such a klutz. But I ended up loving heels, and I don't usually take them off." She wears precisely one pair of flat shoes: Chanel's knee-high patent-leather gladiator sandals. This season, it's Balenciaga's fall collection — all of it — that has Mary-Kate obsessed. She is close to designer Nicolas Ghesquière and says, "He is so talented, but he's the nicest, most down-to-earth guy, and that makes everything he does more brilliant. I bought everything, but I haven't got anything yet," she says like a girl impatiently waiting for Christmas. Will she wear the new pieces with her infamous clodhopper boots? "Uh-huh. Wore them the other day, actually." Mary-Kate always goes with her gut, even if some people (back to those tabloids) don't quite get it. "The tabloids say things about me? What do they say?" she asks archly. "People are going to write what they want, and everyone's going to have their own idea of who I am. But I'm not trying to be friends with the people who are reading them, really." After a rough couple of years filled with near-forensic scrutiny of her weight, she'll have you know that she does eat. "This is not going to sound good," she laughs, "but I like making crispy tofu sticks with peanut sauce. I love my sashimi and my salmon and my vegetables." She observes, "Stress plays a big role in how I look day-to-day. I've always been very active — Pilates, yoga. I grew up horseback riding every day for hours. I love dancing. I usually last longer than anyone on the dance floor." A common image of Mary-Kate has her emerging from a coffee joint with an oversize cup. "I always get creamed for having my Starbucks cup," she says, sighing. "But the only time people get photos of me is when I'm getting coffee, when I can't sneak away from the camera." She also resents the pictorial implication that she and Ashley are dilettantes. "They take photos of us going into our offices, and it's 'Mary-Kate and Ashley shopping again.' But I'm going to work for eight hours, and we're working so hard. ..." She trails off. "It just shows how people want to think of you." Mary-Kate is not above celeb watching herself, however. Newly obsessed with Victoria Beckham, she notes she avidly watched Beckham's Coming to America documentary: "She's running around in a bikini and heels, and I'm like, Oh, my God! I do that, too!" How positively Grey Gardens. "I run around my house naked with heels all the time. It's so funny. All my friends will tell you I love running around in kimonos and jewelry or naked with jewelry." More people will be watching Mary-Kate soon, thanks to her role in the Emmy-nominated Weeds. "I am a very good Christian girl," she says with a wink. "She has her moral beliefs — and she happens to smoke pot." Of her newest cast member, Kohan adds, "Mary-Kate is complicated. She's a big celebrity, a huge media icon, but you have to separate the media images from someone who has the same issues, the same desires, as anyone else." Of course, Mary-Kate's image, in all its incarnations — from high fashion to small screen — is her strongest asset. And she has yet to settle on one. "I feel like I've lived 10 different lives already and I'm only 21," she says, almost as a reminder to herself. "But I also feel like I'm entering a new chapter." One thing on which she is clear, though: She doesn't need to be looked at all the time. What would she do for a day if she were invisible? "I would probably go to a restaurant with my friends, who would be able to see me, of course," she adds pragmatically, "and I would sit outside and enjoy a nice lunch with them. Then I would walk down the street." The old soul takes a sip of her little-girl-sweet hot chocolate. "That's what I would do."

#Mary Kate Olsen #mary kate and ashley #Ashley Olsen #harper's bazaar #magazines #articles #photoshoot

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binniedeactivated · 4 years

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saint. || soobin🌪(2)

ya’ll--- i just want to say that soobin looks so STUNNING in this photo i literally can’t with this man

🖤┊𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 . ೄྀ࿐ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖓 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙/𝖆𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙; 2007.

you knocked on the door that stood taller than anything you’ve ever seen. you looked at your shoes a bit and smoothed out your outfit. you decided to wear something to help you guys get in the mood. it was a pink pastel halter top with a plaid skirt to go with it. you wore boots instead of heels because...you didn’t want to make it look like you tried too hard. You knew were his house was i mean..who didn’t know where the choi’s resided? It was the only mansion anyone has ever seen in this small town. You remember passing it a lot when you were little, wondering how lucky it was to grow up into a rich family. You weren’t poor or anything but you wouldn’t exactly say you were upper middle class. Maybe somewhere in between. anyways, Even though the skirt you wore barely passes your knees you still thought you looked well conserved. Not a whore like your mother would say, even though she barely saw you because you wore a big jacket before you left your house.

anyways you were ringing the doorbell for what if felt like hours until the door was swung open. There was soobin just standing there in plain attire. A black t shirt and grey sweatpants. He wore his black hair over his eyes this time instead of the side part he normally wore to school. You thought he looked rather cute when he wasn’t trying to look like an arrogant prince. He checks you out and gives you this dumb grin that makes you blush almost instantly. You thought it was stupid maybe you shouldn’t have wore the outfit maybe it did make you look like a try hard.

“you can come in” soobin says not mentioning the outfit at all even though he thought your out of school clothes made you look much more mature and sexy. You enter and was immediately intimidated by the high ceilings and marble floors. the big golden chandelier that sat in the middle of the two staircases that curved up into a hallway. There were angelic engravings of a baby cupid plastered on the wall in stone. His house was beautiful but you weren’t surprised. The choi’s were loaded. He closes the door behind you finding it cute at how you stare at everything.

“I’m starting to think you’ve never saw a house before”. Soobin says behind you with his deep voice scaring the hell out of you.

“I have. It’s just yours is...beautiful”.

“yeah. my family have owned this house for years. have had dozens of renovations on it so it never looks old or run down. since I have no older siblings i’m up next to own it”.

you bite the inside of your cheek thinking about how lucky he was. Here he was with a mansion to his name at 18 years old, and you were lucky if your family leaves you a scarf or piece of expensive jewelry in their passing.

“Are you hungry?”. soobin asks while walking to the kitchen. you just watch him. he was much nicer outside of school. it felt like he was living two lives. you furrow your eyebrow.

“am i hungry?”.

“have you never heard of food before either?”. he laughs while digging into his cupboards.

“i’m sorry i’m not used to nice choi soobin. only that prissy jerk that i go to school with”. soobin laughs as if you told a joke or something. you watched his eyes envelope again and again, it was so cute. but you still weren’t going to admit that.

“but no i’m not hungry thanks for asking”.

“a prissy jerk. that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me”.

you decide to take a seat on one of the highchairs at his kitchen island. you could go on and on about the black and grey stone designs and granite countertops that raided his kitchen but you’d rather save the description of his house for a different time. it was a beauty though.

he takes out two slices of bread and starts spreading peanut butter on a piece with a spoon, like a weirdo.

“too bad you denied hunger. i make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches around town”.

“oh no, i feel so bad that i’m missing out on peanut butter and jelly on a ripped piece of bread”. you joke.

“ripped?”.

“yes it’s ripped now because you decided to scrape peanut butter on it with a spoon”.

soobin licks the peanut butter off of his finger and focuses on it like it was a science experiment.

“how else should it go on there?”.

“with a butterknife”.

“what?”.

he asks with a boggled expression. you sigh, hopping your short legs off of the highchair and going into his silverware drawer. you pick up a butterknife and grab another piece of bread and began spreading the peanut butter on it smoothly. you grabbed another butterknife and spread the jelly on it the same way and tossed the utensils in the sink when you were done. you closed the caps on both of the jars before handing the sandwich up to soobin who had his eyes on you the whole time.

you two made this sort of eye contact that made your heart skip a beat. it was like he was looking directly into your soul, embracing you. It was more intimidating because of the height difference. he towered over you like the giant he was.

“thank you”. he utters before smirking again and biting into the sandwich sloppily as if he were five years old. not to mention the crumbs that fell to the floor as he did so.

“soobin you’re getting crumbs on the floor”, you fuss grabbing a broomstick. he takes it from your hand and puts it back in the corner.

“just leave it. the maid will get it, it’s fine”. you brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“that doesn’t mean you purposely leave it there”. you mention while grabbing the broom again and quickly sweeping up his mess. You washed your hands shortly after and soobin stands in the doorway watching you cutely while eating his sandwich. his dimples depressing in both cheeks.

you wipe your hands with a piece of paper towel and dispose it. you hadn’t noticed he was staring until you lock eyes with him again.

“alright soobin what are you looking at?”.

“you. you’re cute. my mom doesn’t even fuss over me like this”. he says before licking jelly off of his hand. you glared at him disgustingly.

“just finish your sandwich soobin”. you mumble, and he throws the last bite into his mouth before dusting his hands off. you stand back in the foyer with your hands on your hips.

“alright, so where are we doing this?”.

with his mouth still full he says, “we can go upstairs to my room”. and you follow after him up the spiraled stairs and down the hallway that was infested with pictures of soobin and his family. Ultra sound soobin, newborn soobin, Baby soobin, toddler soobin, preteen soobin, middle aged teen soobin, up until now.

you finally enter his room that was of course as royal as the rest of the house. His bed was huge and had drapes over it and was held on a platform as if he was some sort of king. He had at least a 90 inch tv mounted on the brick wall across his bed with a fire place underneath. and could you guess what the color scheme of his room was?

yes, yes it was. it was royal blue. he had numerous sports trophies in a trophy case next to his closet. and boy, soobin’s closet was like another room in his home. he even had his own bathroom. While you struggled for bathroom time at your own house, this boy literally pisses and poops as he pleases.

why do bad people get the best out everything?

“you like it?”.

he questions scaring you again. you nod.

“your family must really love you. this room looks expensive. how much does it cost to sit on your bed?”. you joke. soobin laughs and hops on his bed with his shoes off. while he lays down he watches you go around his room and look around.

“so, are you ready?”. he asks. you were nervous. you bite your lips taking your jacket off slowly.

“sure”. you say like you had no fear in the world. you were dying inside. he adjusts himself on the bed. you take a step up and breathed before you straddled him. soobin settles his hands on your waist.

“so, the first step to sex would be foreplay but since we covered that in Sister helena’s class already--”. you and soobin stop and share a laugh. yours was mainly out of embarassment though so you playfully hit his chest.

“We can start with kissing. Have you ever kissed someone before?”.

“no”. you muttered hoping he didn’t hear you. It was quite humiliating to be 18 and to have never kissed a soul.

“well, let me see what i’m working with first then. Lay one on me”. he demands pointing to his face and closing his eyes. you stared at his stupidly cute face and had an urge to smack it but you didn’t.

you lean into his cheek and he backs up opening his eyes. you sit back up.

“on the lips”. you widen your eyes.

“fine fine”. he closes his eyes again and you go for it. while you were pushing your lips on his he laughs against your mouth making you stare him in his eyes.

“why are you kissing me like that”. and you couldn’t help but laugh at your own efforts.

“like what?”.

“like you’re scared of what’s going to happen next”. he flutters his eyes back open. “when you kiss someone you kiss them with confidence and passion, even if you don’t like them. that’s what makes it good. and that’s also how it gets heated very quickly”.

you folded your arms.

“how do you know so much about sex anyways?”. soobin chuckles again. god why was he so cute?

“hey hey this isn’t about me it’s about you. Do you want to try again or would you like me to demonstrate it?”.

not wanting to hear him clown you again you agree to the second option. soobin sits up so that his face was closer to yours. he was actually much better looking up close. he stared in your eyes with that same stare again. As if he were looking directly into your soul embracing your wholeness. it was loving. and caring. way opposite from the Choi soobin you knew at school.

he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “you have to relax. alright?”. you nod and close your eyes trying to maintain steady breathing. He cups your cheek before his cloud like lips layer yours in a way that yours could never layer his. He had so much more power in his kiss, kissing your upper lip and then your lower lip shortly after. in the movies you’d normally see the girl kiss back. so that’s exactly what you did, or attempted to do.

you mimicked soobin’s movements of kissing his upper lip and bottom lip before pushing yours fully on his. you had to say, the moment was angelic. the both of you continue with the same passion, struggling for air. your heart picks up it’s pace again and you felt like you were on cloud nine. You both were so engulfed in the kiss you hadn’t notice that soobin had laid down and you followed him, on top of him kissing him like you never had before. he lowers his hands down below your waist grasping your ass now, and you omit a tiny whimper into his mouth.

“soobin-ah! we’re home did you study your bible?”. his mom yelled from down the stairs with his dad arriving behind her with a closing door.

#choi soobin #txt #kpop #choi yeonjun #kang taehyun #heuningkai #txt au #choi soobin au #choi soobin imagines #txt imagines #kpop imagines #kpop au

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youidiotprince · 3 years

Text

A Very Merry Ca$hqu€€ns Christmas

“No, Nora! Stay out!” Ava yelled from floor, scrambling to shield her nearly wrapped gift from Nora’s curious gaze. Nora had announced her presence with a quiet knock as she pushed open the door, hoping to catch Ava off guard and glimpse her gift.

“Why can’t I see, hm? If the present isn’t for me. . .” Nora teased, crossing her arms over her chest, feet still planted in the open doorway.

“Because I…” Ava floundered for an explanation that wouldn’t incriminate her, but she couldn’t string together the words. “Just because! It’ll ruin it either way, so you just have to get out.”

“If you say so.” Nora turned to leave, but as she closed the door behind her, she added, “I’m taking this as confirmation that you’re my Secret Santa, though.”

“Nora,” Ava groaned, grabbing the nearest item and throwing it at the now-closed door. When it fluttered to the ground only a foot or so in front of where she sat, she realized it was the glittery green bow she still had to stick atop her present. She’d opted for a more classic look, with red and white striped wrapping paper, thick and shiny, a purchase she’d splurged on for her gifts this year because she’d always liked the crisp lines and folds the more expensive papers made when wrapping. Nora’s gift, which she’d already put under the tree earlier that day, was wrapped in snowman-covered paper, something she’d had leftover from the year before, and maybe the year before that.

Ava peeled the backing from the sticky part of the bow and placed it, perfectly centered where the lines of ribbon intersected on top of her rectangular package. She could faintly hear the tinkling bells of the festive music Nora had just started playing, and she knew that was her cue to hurry it up.

With the package cradled under her arm, she left her room and called out to Nora, “Hey girl, what do you need me to do?”

Nora rounded the corner from the kitchen and eyed Ava’s now perfectly wrapped gift. “Ooh, that looks gorgeous,” Nora said with a mischievous look. “I can’t wait to open it.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Ava taunted with a smile. She placed her gift under the tree and brushed her hands clean of it. “Have you heard from the others yet?”

“Mm, they’re both on their way, they should be here any minute.”

The girls busied themselves plating the snacks they’d prepared and the cookies they’d baked until they heard a knock at the door, the thuds sounding in time with the cheesy Christmas carol playing over the speaker.

“Merry Friendsmas!” Mailin and Fatou shouted together, smiles spread almost as wide as their arms. Mailin modeled a headband with reindeer antlers stuck on top and red makeup on the tip of her nose, and Fatou wore a red and green patterned sweater trimmed with glittery tinsel around the neck, the wrists, and the bottom hem. They both held up their presents, Fatou’s in a wintery blue and silver giftbag and Mailin’s wrapped in what looked like newspaper or scrap paper of some sort. They’d dressed on theme, matching Nora’s all red look paired with a Santa hat and Ava’s cozy plaid Christmas pajamas. After a quiet beat during which they took in all their different looks, the girls erupted in excited chatter all at once, talking over each other in order to compliment and dissect their different outfits.

“That must be so itchy,” Nora told Fatou as Fatou told Ava how much she envied her cozy attire.

“Your nose!” Ava exclaimed to Mailin as she reached out almost close enough to touch it before Mailin flinched away.

“No, don’t ruin it yet. I forgot the lipstick at home,” Mailin admitted sheepishly. “Although it looks like I could just borrow Nora’s.” Nora puckered her red lips in response. She backed out of the way so they all could come in and make themselves comfy. They left their coats and boots in the entryway.

“Mulled wine, anyone?” Nora asked from the kitchen as Mailin and Fatou added their gifts to the pile in the main room and sat on the couch next to Ava. “I’ll be having hot chocolate, so that’s an option too.”

Ava and Fatou shared a look before Fatou answered for both of them, “Two mulled wines, please.”

“Oh wait, I’ll come help,” Mailin said as she leapt up from the couch and joined Nora in the kitchen. “Also, I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

Once they brought the drinks out to the others, they all settled into their easy rhythm, talking about the little details of their lives that had happened since they’d last seen each other, recounting some of their best and worst holiday memories before they met each other. Nora opened up about the year that her mother hadn’t gotten anyone any gifts and Kiki, trying to fix everything, went out and bought Nora a box of colored pencils and a coloring book and Zoe a bracelet-making kit with the small amount of money she had. It hadn’t been much but it had meant the world to both of them. Zoe made each of the sisters a bracelet, and she wondered if Kiki or Zoe still had theirs. Fatou shared that one of the best presents she ever received was a book about marine biology with lots of pictures of marine life. She told them that her brother made fun of her endlessly about it, but he was always looking over her shoulder as she’d read through it.

When they felt like they’d run out of stories, they sang carols and karaoke in pairs until Zoe hollered from her room for them to quiet down, and while the singing might have stopped, they didn’t actually adjust their volume much. Eventually, feeling like a little kid who’d been trying their best to wait patiently for the chance to open presents but who just couldn’t hold it in any longer, Ava admitted, “Girls, I can’t take it anymore. We need to do the gift exchange already.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Mailin gasped, as if she’d completely forgotten about the main event of the evening.

Nora clapped and then wiggled her fingers together excitedly, looking slowly at each of her friends. “Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Fatou said, straining to reach the gift she’d left with the others. She finally snagged the handle with the tip of her finger, so she pulled it over and sat back upright. “Okay, drumroll please.” The girls started pounding their fists on their legs or on the floor, whichever was closer. “This is for… Ava!” Fatou held the gift out to her with a flourish, beaming.

“Chibi,” Ava said warmly, taking the decently sized bag from Fatou’s hand. It was stuffed with white tissue paper which Ava crumpled into a ball and handed to Nora, who was collecting the trash. Beneath all of that was the edge of a sleek black frame, which Ava pulled out carefully. The frame enclosed a photo of the stars in the night sky with a date underneath: October 2, 2020. Ava brushed her fingertips over the glass, hovering just above so as not leave a smudge.

“It’s a print of the constellations on the first day we all hung out together, when we stole that money,” Fatou blurted. “I know you’ve been looking for things to decorate the place with, and that day is so important to me, to us. This seemed like a good gift because we both love the universe and space and astrology so much.”

“Fatou, this is incredible.” Ava’s voice was full of genuine awe. “Seriously, this is perfect, I love it so much. We should all have one of these, honestly.” Nora and Mailin were craning their necks to get a better look, so Ava passed the print to them. As they admired it, Ava turned to Fatou. There was no way Fatou could know just how much this meant to her. How lame and lonely and insecure she felt before as she tried to rebuild her life here without a solid friend group, how difficult it was to watch other people find these friend groups that seemed like they’d last for life while Ava had paper thin friendships that were haunted by the words of her bullies, the doubts and fears they’d implanted in her. Ava felt as though this group of girls, this group of best friends, had finally allowed her to embrace herself with the confidence she had only ever faked before. Fatou couldn’t know how much that day meant to her in particular, but still, it felt like maybe she did, at least a little bit. “Thank you, Fatou. Really.”

“You’re welcome, Ava,” she said as she rested her head on Ava’s shoulder and snuggled closer, patting Ava’s knee tenderly.

After a few moments, Ava offered, “Okay, I’ll go next, and we can just go whoever receives the gift can give the next one? If that works out.” Everybody nodded so Ava grabbed her gift and settled back down on the couch. “Okay, this lovely, award-winning wrapping is for none other than… Mailin.”

“I get the best wrapped one,” Mailin said as she excitedly took the present from Ava and shook it next to her ear. When she brought it back down in front of her, she hesitated. “I almost don’t want to open it! But alas,” she said, and with that she ripped open the paper to reveal a jewelry box with a brand label printed on it that she’d never heard of. When she lifted the lid, she saw two sets of earrings, one set of green and blue tie-dye rectangular pendants with “climate” engraved in one and “justice” engraved in the other and one set of large globe earrings.

“They’re made from completely recycled materials, and the proceeds went to a campaign for climate justice here in Germany. And they just seemed so you,” Ava explained, motioning between the new earrings and the earrings Mailin was currently wearing, which were big candy canes dangling from her ears.

“No, these are awesome, I’ve been trying to develop my collection of fun earrings. These are fun and make a statement. Thank you. Okay, my turn.” Mailin jumped up to grab her newspaper package. “Special eco-friendly wrapping,” she boasted. “Hope you enjoy.” With that, she handed the gift off to Nora without much ceremony, which added its own bit of surprise.

“For me? Ah, okay, I’m excited,” Nora said as she tore into the newspaper. Underneath it all was a thick stack of shipping labels, some used and some unused. The used ones were obviously an attempt at recycling, which Nora appreciated. The sticker at the top of the stack already had a note on it, which must have been written by Mailin, as it said, “Coupon for free shipping label retrieval and delivery for a year. Ask and you will receive.”

“Those are what you used to do your drawings on when you left them around the city, right? I know you’ve probably worn yourself out with all the drawings you’ve done for our shirts, but as a token of appreciation for all of that, I will provide you with shipping label sticker things whenever you need them.” Mailin finished her explanation with a proud smile.

“This is really thoughtful, Mailin. I’ll definitely take you up on this coupon offer,” Nora said with a wink. She then turned to Fatou. “So it’s just you and me,” Nora joked, handing her gift off to Fatou.

“This box is light, I wonder what it could be,” Fatou said as she ripped off the paper. She was only teasing Nora about the weight of the box, but when she opened it all the way and looked inside, it really was empty. Just completely empty. Fatou looked up, confused, and made eye contact with Ava. Ava’s stomach lurched. It couldn’t be. Had Nora forgotten a gift? She wouldn’t do that to Fatou, would she? And if she had forgotten, why would she just wrap an empty box? She hated herself for thinking it, but after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t keep the thought away that maybe this was a prank, that maybe Nora’s friendship with all of them was some kind of prank. It was just a nagging thought in the back of her mind, it couldn’t possibly be true, but she still couldn’t ignore it, not completely.

At the same time, Fatou and Ava turned to look at Nora, trying to work out what exactly was going on, but she was engrossed in something on her phone, her lips turning up into a smile. How could she be so callous?

“Nora,” Fatou started, voice quiet and hesitant. Before she could say more, three phones buzzed with a new message, and Nora looked up, smile growing. Fatou had planned to ignore the text, but now she was suspicious. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and opened the message, her phone redirecting her to WhatsApp. There, in the ca$hqu€€ns groupchat, was a collection of stickers, some actual photos and some drawings, of axolotls. The drawings had the axolotls pulling funny facial expressions, emoting in different ways. A smile here, a frown there, a wink and a stuck-out tongue. Fatou felt Ava exhale beside her.

“I’m sorry for the empty box, I wanted to give you something to unwrap even though the gift was virtual, but my timing ended up being kind of off with that one,” Nora said, sheepish. “And they’re not exactly emojis, but they’re close, right?”

“My axolotl emoji,” Fatou said almost dreamily.

“Nora, these are awesome,” Mailin chimed in from beside her.

“Thanks. If you want any other facial expressions, just let me know.”

A content silence stretched between the girls, everyone feeling comfortable and warm, processing the gifts they’d just given and received.

“Guys, this was so great, I… you don’t understand how happy I am right now. You guys are the best.” Ava’s heart swelled with something that felt like pride, maybe, that these were the people she chose, that these were the people who chose her. Of course Nora wouldn’t let any of them down like that, not on purpose. None of them would. They all loved and respected each other too much. “The ca$hqu€€ns were written in the stars, you guys. We were fated.”

At Ava’s moment of vulnerability, all of the girls rushed to wrap her in the tightest group hug, falling all over each other and ending up in a messy pile of cuddles. Limbs tangled and faces smushed, and when they finally started to pull away a bit, Mailin took one look at Ava’s cheek and sighed.

“Oh no, I smeared my nose on your cheek.”

#alteradventcalendar #druck #druck fic #cashqueens #ava pereira #fatou jallow #nora machwitz #mailin richter

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dandelionflower · 4 years

Text

Felinette Month Day 12

Disapproval

“I’m sorry Adrien, but the pairings you requested for the Culpa-Gabriel shoot have been unapproved.” Nathalie declared, passing him a sheet of paper. “The approved pairs will be you and Miss Rossi, along with Felix Culpa and Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien groaned internally as he smiled at Nathalie. “Okay! Thanks for telling me.” Whyy?

It wasn’t that Felix wasn’t a nice person, he was a son of a designer like him, Bridgette Culpa of Culpa Creations. She was most known for her jewelry, but was still a widely popular designer.

He was a little... cold sometimes, though. He never really talked to Adrien much.

That didn’t mean he was a bad person, it just made it hard to make sure he could be a friend.

But why did he have to be the one modeling with Marinette?

He hadn’t seen Marinette in weeks since she stopped coming to school. He had done everything just to try and talk with his friend again.

He’d tried calling her, checking at the bakery, walking by really slowly. But it was all met with the same response: failure.

And now, he hears that because of her amazing designing as MDC, the previously anonymous designer, Marinette is going to model for the Gabriel-Culpa shoot, and he can’t do it with her.

It just didn’t make sense, Felix didn’t even know Marinette, and he got to model with her? Just because Lila was working with the Gabriel brand, didn’t mean he had to work with her every single time.

He knew Marinette, he would make her feel more comfortable while helping her with technique! Felix would make her feel uneasy and criticize her.

Speak of the devil, there was Felix, walking towards him with an unusual bounce in his step.

“Hello, Adrien. How are you today?”

Adrien took a miniscual step back. “Fine, how are you?”

“I’m rather well, thank you. Where are our outfits for the shoot?”

“In the back room as always.” Adrien hurried after Felix. “Speaking of, I was wondering if I could talk to you about that, particularly partners?”

“Yes, you are with Miss Rossi, are you not? Horrid girl, I’m glad I’m not in her school.” Felix spoke absentmindedly, while sifting through the racks of clothes.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m wondering...”

“Adrien!” The too-familiar voice of Lila made Adrien cringe.

“Hey Lila.” He says weakly, knowing his chance of switching partners was ruined.

She threw herself onto him and pressed kisses all over his cheeks, then, like she didn’t notice he was there, turned to Felix.

“Oh, you’re Felix, right? One half of our other pair?” She smiled charmingly and stuck out her hand. “I’m Lila Rossi, Adrien’s partner.” Adrien has to hold back a wince at the word.

“Ah, yes.” He shook her hand. “A pleasure.”

“So, who are you working with?” She tilted her head.

“A newer designer, MDC.”

“Really? I’m surprised I wasn’t told, we’re basically best friends!”

Felix’s eyebrows shot up. “Indeed?”

“Yeah, totally! We text all the time.”

“Really?” Felix gave a smirk and leaned back. “Do tell me more.”

“I’m actually the one who got them designing. I even do designs for them when they’re out of inspiration.”

“Excuse me?” A timid voice piped up from behind them. “Is this where I’m supposed to be?”

Lila turned, allowing Felix to catch a glimpse of the bluenette ahead of them. “I’m sorry, Marinette, but this area is for talent only.”

“Netta!” Felix rushed forward, pulling her close to him. “I was worried you got lost; the building is pretty complex.”

She giggled and pressed a simple kiss to his lips. “I’m fine, a nice lady led me over here.”

Oh. So that was why they were modeling together.

“Felix,” Lila piped up, her voice honey sweet, “I’m sure you two would love to stay and chat more, but doesn’t Marinette need to leave? I know for a fact that MDC doesn’t deal well with too many new people at a time. Besides, this room is for models only.”

Felix gave yet another lazy smirk, his arm resting over Marinette’s shoulders. “Do you want to tell her?”

“Nah, you’d do it better.” She tilted her head into his cheek with a sly grin.

“Miss Rossi, I have to say, I expected more from you, from all the things Marinette’s said about you, I thought you would be some master deceiver, but I was proven horribly wrong. You aren’t even mediocre.”

“What are you taking about?”

“Marinette is MDC, it’s rather common knowledge, hence my disappointment.”

“Wh-what?”

Marinette gave her a knowing smile. “Since I transferred to Aster Academy, I’ve had so much time to focus on my passions. Must have been the lack of scum.”

“Why you-“

“So, Marinette, you’re wearing your designs?” Adrien gracefully pulled the clothes from the rack, handing them to her.

“Yep, I figure people will trust my pieces better if they see me wearing them myself.”

“That’s really smart!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lila seeth, and he knew the school would pay for his compliment.

The photographer poked his head in the door. “Five minutes, please get into your first outfits.”

The four desided to put anything else they wanted to say behind them, and rushed into the fitting rooms.

————-

“Lovely! Lovely!” The photographer shouted, snapping picture after picture.

Adrien and Lila stood off to the side, watching the other pair.

Marinette was wearing a white skirt that flared out, stopping at the middle of her calves. She had white socks paired with light blue Converse.

Her shirt was the same light blue, with parts of it weathered to be slightly lighter. The neckline was white and fluffy, paired with a hood of the same quality.

She was constantly spinning around and leaping, the perfect picture of a peaceful cloud.

Felix was in a deep blue shirt under a leather jacket with blazing white highlights.

He was wearing dark jeans, with a pearl-like chain hanging from the belt.

His feet were covered in dark leather boots with blue laces.

He was a storm, moving and guiding Marinette to all the right places, making sure she was the pinnacle of attention.

They were modeling the MDC lines “Innocence” and “Electric.”

Adrien was on the sidelines, wearing loose blue clothes, from the Culpa line “Aqua” and Lila was dressed in oranges and reds, the Gabriel line “Ignite.”

The two began chasing each other around the park in an impromptu game of tag.

The photographer laughed with surprise and followed them, snapping pictures as they began to waltz along the rim of the fountain, both humming the same song.

Soon, Marinette slipped and Adrien lunged forward to help, only to find Felix had caught her in a low dip, his hair just barely brushing against her nose.

“Ah! Yes!” The photographer shouted, rushing around them, getting a picture from every angle. “Such chemistry!”

He turned to Adrien and Lila, while the other pair hopped off the fountain. “You two can leave, these doves will do your pieces instead.”

Adrien lit up in a grin as Lila lifted her shoulders in indignation. “What about Mr. Agreste? He wants his son and me to be in the shoot.”

The man waved his hand in the air, like he was shooing away a fly. “He won’t mind when he sees this pure artistry of a photo shoot. Now go, change out of the clothes so the angel and her knight might wear them for the next part.”

She huffed and marched off, while Adrien skipped behind her.

I got out of a photo shoot! I can finally spend some time with Nino and Alya and Max and everyone! He changed faster than he ever had before and rushed out of the park, heading for Andre’s.

He caught a glance of Marinette and Felix laughing with each other and his heart swelled. Normally, any model would groan at the mere thought of working extra hours, but those two were laughing without a care in the world.

Maybe his father disapproving the pairs wasn’t such a bad thing in the end.

#felinette #ml felix #felix culpa #felinette november #felinettemonth #marinette dupain cheng #felix agreste #ml marinette #miraculous ladybug #mlb #felinette month 2019 #felinettemonth2019 #felinette month #ml felinette #ml lila #ml adrien #adrien agreste #lila rossi #a scribble

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widomauked · 3 years

Text

tagged by @darthsidious technically bc im in the nets she tagged and tbh i jump at the chance to do these things ily babe

bold what applies to you

SOFT.

DARK ACADEMIA.

EDGY.

70s.

PREPPY CASUAL.

ROMANTIC GHOST.

tagging: i don’t care do it if u want

(also i promise u my wardrobe is as fucked as it sounds)

#tag game #rdm #abt me

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morningfears · 5 years

Text

Through the Lens

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Tour Photographer!Reader x Luke, set right after the Youngblood release. | You’re the tour photographer for 5 Seconds of Summer’s latest tour. This is the first tour you’ve done with them and you go from not really knowing much about them to falling in love with a certain lead singer a little too quick. Mentions of cheating, mentions of hate and really rude/awful comments, mentions of anxiety.

Word Count: 21k (Fuck if I know, man)

For the first time since leaving Los Angeles nearly a week ago, everything is quiet. There are no screaming fans, elated at seeing their favorite boys. There are no bustling crew members, setting up the stage or tuning guitars. There are no shouting band members, laughing and joking with one another as they celebrate the return of tour. There is only silence and its presence allows you to breathe, really and truly breathe, for the first time in nearly a week. The hotel room is still, undisturbed by the outside world, and the hum of the air conditioner serves as white noise, drowning out your thoughts, as you lie on top of the oversized duvet and take a moment to rest.

The beginning of any tour is always the hardest part for you. While everyone else celebrates being together again, carefree and anxious to get back on stage, you desperately search for your place amongst the chaos. You always aim to blend in, fade into the background, in an attempt to be as unobtrusive as possible. You’re painfully aware that most of the artists you work with have cameras shoved in their faces for a large majority of their time and you don’t want to make it any worse for them. You like for your photos to feel natural, captured in the moment rather than forced or staged, and your best work is done when your presence is barely felt.

In most cases, the first week is the one where the bands you tour with tend to get used to your presence. For the first few days, usually before the shows really begin, they’re painfully aware of the camera hanging around your neck. However, as soon as the madness of performing really starts walls begin to drop and you’re allowed a more intimate view of your subjects. Over the years, you’ve even managed to befriend several of the bands that you’ve worked with. Most of the tours you’ve been on have been with bands you’ve either worked for previously or were on tour with at one point.

Following your first tour, your jobs seemed to be varying degrees of relation. After your initial stint photographing SWMRS as they toured with All Time Low, you actually toured with All Time Low. Following your tour with All Time Low, you managed to photograph Neck Deep. Then, it was One OK Rock. And every time, you’ve felt at home. You’ve felt like you were among friends.

This time, however, feels a bit different.

For the first time in nearly three years, you’re on the road with a band that you’ve never worked with or around. Though you managed to photograph them at a festival months ago, you weren’t there primarily for them and you don’t count that among your experience working with them. Instead, this time you have Jack, All Time Low’s guitarist and a friend dating back to one of your first tours, to thank for your introduction to 5 Seconds of Summer.

When the boys decided to go in a different direction for their latest tour, he’d tossed your name into the running without a second thought. Your photography style suited their new era, he promised them, and he sang your praises as a professional and as a friend. He showed them all of his favorite photos from the tour you’d gone on with them, showed them photos you took of him at festival shows or just on a whim, and promised them that you would be an excellent addition to the tour. He even sent them all your Instagram account, not so subtly hinting for them to give you a follow, and had been more excited than you when they asked you to join them on tour.

It’s not that you’re not grateful. Quite the opposite, honestly. Of all of the artists that you’ve had the opportunity to work with, 5 Seconds of Summer are easily the biggest and will, hopefully, boost your career. But the task of settling into a new environment, surrounded by new crew members and a new band, is always a bit daunting. You never want to overstep with your photographs, you never want to invade their personal space, and the initial task of getting to know the boys and what they’re comfortable with takes time. And while other bands you’ve worked with have been a little less cautious about their image, more willing to just allow you to photograph them as you saw fit, you’ve noticed that things are a little more curated with your current bosses.

It’s not that the image you see of them is fake. They’re vulnerable and open, more so now than they ever have been, but they’re invested in producing a certain image. In the week that you’ve been with them, you’ve never seen them in anything other than their stage clothes (a marker that you extend to the clothing they wear when doing promos or meeting fans). You have yet to see Ashton in anything other than a leather jacket and a white t-shirt. You have yet to see Michael in anything other than all black, a hoodie tossed over it all and outfit completed with a hat. You have yet to see Calum without his silver boots and leather jacket. You have yet to see Luke without his boots and some sort of jewelry.

It doesn’t feel fake, not really, but you’re painfully aware that you have yet to see the real 5 Seconds of Summer.

You hope that, as tour drags on, you’ll be able to get to know them better. You’re spending six months on the road with them so you’re anticipating getting to know the real 5 Seconds of Summer. However, you’re never quite certain with unfamiliar artists and, as they’re a little higher up the celebrity food chain than any band you’ve worked with, you’re not sure just how well that’s going to go. Though Jack assured you that the boys are fantastic and that you’d get along well with them, the bundle of nerves that has resided in your stomach since agreeing to join them on tour has yet to dissipate. You imagine that you’ll feel this way, a little on edge and a little overwhelmed, until you really get into the groove of life on tour with them. Whatever the case may be, though, you can only hope that you’ll at least be given the chance to see them as they are, not as they want you to see them.

Based on the limited interaction you’ve had with them so far (an impromptu photoshoot before the first show, photographing the first three shows of tour, photographing the dressing room before the first show, and the subsequent presentation of the images for their approval after each), you genuinely like them. The guys are funny, lively and excited to be back on the road after a sort of hiatus, and you can only imagine that your fondness for them will grow as you get to know them.

The sound of your cellphone vibrating against the nightstand pulls you away from your reflections of the first week of tour, drags you out of your bubble of silent contemplation, and you reach blindly for it with a frown quirking your lips. The name at the top of the screen reads Noah and a photograph that you’d taken of him years, lifetimes, ago greets you. It’s the third time he’s called since you stepped off the plane earlier in the day and you know that you should answer him, that you should at least send him a text to let him know you arrived safely, but the mere thought of speaking to him ties your stomach in knots.

Once upon a time, you were in love with him. Once upon a time, you imagined a future that featured him quite prominently and laughed at anyone who told you that that vision might change. Once upon a time, you would’ve jumped at the chance to speak with him when he was halfway across the country. Once upon a time, the beginning of tour brought about an ache in your chest as you were forced to be away from him for months at a time.

But those days are long over.

Now, you feel an overwhelming sense of relief whenever you settle into your seat to leave for tour. Now, you screen his calls and speak with him once every few days, if not less. Now, you forget that he’s even a part of your life until you return home and are faced with the reality of sharing an apartment and a German Sheppard. Now, you relish in the fact that he’s at least a thousand miles away at any given moment and it all makes you feel like shit.

Noah has always been the better person in your relationship. He’s always been kind and loving, supportive and encouraging. He’s always been a rock, someone that you could count on to answer even if you were calling at three in the morning, panicking over something that he couldn’t even remotely begin to help with. You always imagined that you’d get married someday, have kids and settle into a life of editorial photography or maybe even teaching, but you’re a different person than you were when the two of you met. You’re no longer the person that he fell in love with and neither is he.

You just can’t bring yourself to end things.

You’ve tried, several times, to break things off with Noah. You’ve written letters, rehearsed speeches, and even called in friends for backup. But every time you try, something stops you. The one time you actually managed to get the words out, he spent two weeks wooing you with flowers and music and you took him back without really thinking about it because he’s the kind of person that you never want to see upset. You’ve been with him for nearly five years, though the latter year and a half of that has simply been you going through the motions of a relationship rather than actually playing an active role. The idea of hurting him, the idea of hurting the first person you ever loved and the first person to ever love you, hurts but you know that you’re going to have to rip off the bandaid sooner rather than later.

You know that it’d be easy to do it while you were on tour, send him a text or a letter or a phone call and tell him that you want out, but every time you attempt to say the words, they get stuck in your throat.

A part of you has always hoped that he’d get tired of you touring and break up with for someone who had a normal job and was at home more than three months out of the year. A part of you always hoped that he’d get jealous over your friendships with band members and give you a reason to break up with him. But no matter what happens, he’s understanding and kind, loving and supportive. And you think that might be part of the reason you’ve had so much trouble.

While Noah has done nothing but love and support you, you’ve missed so many milestones in his life. You missed his graduation, you missed parties and events for his work, you missed little things like seeing his favorite movie with him or spending Valentine’s Day together. You’ve been absent for a large chunk of your relationship and you feel like you owe it to him to stick it out, regardless of your feelings.

You feel indebted to him and like the end of the relationship should be on his terms, not yours.

You know, realistically, that that’s not a healthy mindset to have. You knew, the moment you started having those thoughts, that the relationship was over. But the guilt keeps you bound to him and it only magnifies tenfold as you listen to the voicemail he’d left in lieu of you answering his call. ‘Just checking in to make sure you got to New York safe. I’m sure you’re probably working but don’t forget to get some sleep. You deserve it. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.’ The words ring hollow in your ears and you feel the crushing guilt multiply in the pit of your stomach as you replay the message two more times before returning your phone to the nightstand and burying your head under one of the pillows.

You only get a brief moment to wallow in your misery before your cellphone is ringing once more. You almost don’t want to look, you know that you can’t ignore him a second time, but the realization that it could be work related forces you to reach out with shaking fingers and grab the device from the nightstand. A number that you don’t recognize fills the screen and you frown at it before you answer with a nearly breathless, “Hello?”

“Hey!” The cheery voice of Ashton Irwin rings in your ears and you frown, somewhat confused, as you roll over on your bed and listen to him explain, “It’s Ashton. I hope you don’t mind that I got your number, I forgot to ask you for it before we all went our separate ways.”

“Ashton! Hi, no, that’s fine. Sorry, I usually would’ve given it to you guys but it’s been a whirlwind week. I don’t know how you aren’t passed out right now, honestly,” you laugh as you settle into the pillows and allow yourself to breathe again.

“It has been hectic,” he agrees with a laugh, “but we’re actually getting ready to go out. We’re all running on beginning of tour adrenaline and vodka. I was actually calling to see if you wanted to come with us. It’s not going to be just us, a bunch of people on the crew are coming, too. Just a beginning of tour celebration, you know?”

As much as you desperately want to spend the night curled up under a blanket, watching some mindless television show and foregoing human interaction for the day, you know that you have to accept. You know that your only option is to agree to join them and get to know them a little better without a camera around your neck so that you won’t feel like such an obtrusive figure in their lives.

So, without really thinking too hard, you agree. “Sure, sounds like fun,” you nod, although he can’t see you. “Do I have time to not look like I just spent the last week running around like a maniac?”

Ashton laughs at this and the sound makes you smile. It feels familiar, comfortable, and you can only hope that the others will be so open. “You have time,” he confirms, “we’re not leaving for another hour but you look like you’ve barely broken a sweat running after us. You’re gonna outshine us all if you look any better.”

You hear a groan in the background and Calum scoff, “Stop flirting, man.”

You laugh at this statement as Ashton huffs. “I’m not flirting! It’s called being nice, Calum, you should look it up. Anyway, we’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour? It’s just a dive bar so you really don’t have to get dressed up.”

“Sounds good,” you nod as you glance at your suitcase and mentally begin preparing an outfit. “See you guys in an hour!”

Ashton bids his goodbye and you toss your phone onto the bed beside you before you push yourself up into a sitting position. You sit, cross-legged and frowning, and stare at the neon green suitcase perched on top of the dresser. You’d left it open when you entered your room with every intention of taking a shower and crawling into bed, your pajamas right on top for easy access, but you know that your dreams of an early night are dashed. There’s no way you’ll be making it back to the hotel before midnight, you imagine it’ll be much later than that, and you resign yourself to spending the night nursing a glass of wine as you attempt to get to know the band.

As you climb from the bed and dig through your bag for something suitable to wear, you remind yourself that this is for the best. You need to get to know them, you need to make yourself human and accessible rather than just a shutterbug out to document their lives, but as you style your hair and refresh the makeup you’d applied that morning, you find yourself wishing that they’d chosen a morning outing or a dinner rather than a trip to a dive bar.

It’s not that you don’t appreciate a good party, you’ve partied with the best of them on tours like this, partied even harder the summer you spent working Warped Tour, but the exhaustion you feel from flying across the country is unparalleled and the guilt bubbling in the pit of your stomach has you desperate to hide away from the outside world. You feel like you could’ve faked your way through a dinner, faked your way through a small sit-down, but sitting in a crowded dive bar, choking on cigarette smoke and too many separate scents is something you know that you’re going to find difficult to pretend to enjoy.

But, as you settle into an all-black outfit, something of a uniform at this point, and wander toward the elevator to join the others in the lobby, you try to tell yourself that it won’t be that bad. If anything, it’ll be enjoyable. And, if not, you don’t feel obligated to stay longer than an hour or two. You have an early morning, editing the first in a series of tour diaries, and you know that they’ll understand if you duck out before the party is over.

As you lose yourself in thoughts of the things on your agenda, thoughts of home and how to just rip off the bandaid (would it even be possible to change your phone number and just disappear at this point? Maybe, but that’s an insane plan and you chide yourself for even thinking it), thoughts of upcoming weeks and places you’d like to see if you get a second to yourself, you don’t notice a second person enter the elevator beside you. Too busy staring at the bright silver of the wall, you don’t notice them lean around you and press the lobby button nor do you notice them raise an eyebrow at your clearly contemplative state.

It isn’t until the elevator dings, hollow, robotic voice announcing that you’ve reached the lobby, that you return to reality and frown in confusion. You feel certain that you hadn’t pressed any buttons, a slip of the mind that’s left you stranded in an elevator before, but before you can question yourself or your sanity, an increasingly familiar voice explains, “You looked like you were thinking pretty hard. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Luke smiles sheepishly at his explanation, hands shoved in his pockets and bright eyes curious rather than accusatory. This is a look you have yet to see, you’ve grown used to swaggering Luke who owns the stage and has a certain strange charm about him that draws everyone in, and to see him look every bit the twenty-something that he is, so far removed from the rockstar he portrays, is endearing. You find yourself wishing that you had your camera, wanting nothing more than to capture the look on his face, but you’ve sworn off the job for the night and resign yourself to hoping that you’ll see this side of him again.

“Oh, thanks,” you laugh as you step out of the elevator with him close behind, “sorry, I space out sometimes. Never when I’m working, obviously, but, you know. After focusing for so long, spacing out feels necessary every now and again.” When Luke giggles at your rambling, an amused grin on his lips and blue eyes shining with mirth, you mentally chastise yourself and huff a sigh of defeat. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” he assures you with a smile, “the spacing or the rambling. Cal and I space out a lot, too, and Ashton never shuts up so it’s nothing we’re not used to.” Luke pauses for a moment, almost hesitant, before he adds, “At least it’s cute when you do it.”

You blink at him, unsure of how to take his comment, but before you can respond or he can backtrack, Ashton’s voice echoes through the lobby. “There you guys are! You’re the last ones down. Thought you both fell asleep on me,” he laughs, smiling brightly at you both as he gestures for you to move faster in joining the group in the center of the lobby.

Luke’s still smiling, a bit of mischief shining in his eyes, though his cheeks are tinted a pale pink as you stare at him for a moment longer. He waits for you to speak, waits for you to question him or for you to ramble about how inappropriate that is or maybe for you to return his compliment with a witty quip of your own, but you remain silent. He can see the gears turning in your head once more, can see you thinking a little too much, and it makes him smile as he gestures his head toward the group. As an amused, “Come on,” leaves his lips and he begins walking toward the assembled group, you tell yourself not to read into it. You’ve met his type before, you’ve been on enough tours to know that flirty band members are a dime a dozen, and they’re usually the last ones you want to get involved with.

The flirts are usually more trouble than they’re worth, although, as you catch yourself studying Luke, watching as he grins at Calum and shakes his head in the most exaggerated manner to some unheard question, you have a sinking feeling that with him, the good could easily outweigh the bad.

A nudge to your side breaks you away from your thoughts and you smile at a guitar tech, Blake, who had helped you climb on top of (and get down from) a speaker to get a better shot during one of the first shows. As you glance around, you spot several members of the crew that you’ve managed to get to know, others that you have yet to formally introduce yourself to, and members of the opening band that you’ve already managed to befriend. You’re glad to notice that your outfit falls somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, not too flashy but by no means the most casual (you spot a crew member in shorts and flip flops and imagine that Ashton must’ve dragged him out of bed to join you all for a drink), as you feel yourself being swallowed by the crowd.

There are plenty of you, enough people that no one would notice if you slipped out early, and the thought comforts you as Ashton announces the plan. It’s clear that he’s the mastermind of the party scene on tour, clear that he’s the unofficial leader, at least in moments like these, and you again find yourself itching to grab your camera as you watch him laugh. They all look so carefree, a world of difference from the masks they’ve worn during promotions, different even from the looks they wore when laughing and joking with one another in their dressing room, and the festive atmosphere pushes any thoughts of worry and exhaustion from your mind as you fall into step with one of the guitar techs and follow the crowd down the street.

Any thoughts of life outside of tour dissipate as you step into the bar. Worry about home, guilt about leaving Noah’s call unreturned, questions about your future; they cease to matter as you’re handed a beer that you know you won’t drink and are pulled into a game of Cards Against Humanity with a score of techs.

The group is, without a doubt, the most raucous in the bar. What had been a relatively quiet establishment (for a bar, anyway), only a few regulars perched on stools and nursing local craft beers, has become the liveliest spot in the city. Ashton and Michael have challenged a group of locals to a game of pool, some of the guitar techs raided the board game stash and have dragged the opening act into a game of Settlers of Catan, someone has convinced the bartender to switch the music to Nickelback; chaos has descended upon the place but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Alright, the card reads, 'What does Dick Cheney prefer?’ Everyone, pass your white cards here!”

You strain to hear Calum over the blaring music, frowning slightly before he shows the card to the group and allows you to read it. With your frown deepening, you return your gaze to the cards in your hand and shuffle through them to pick an appropriate answer. In what seems like it’s going to be a recurring pattern in your life, you don’t notice Luke settle into the empty chair beside you. You don’t notice him toss his arm over the back of your chair or shift closer to you to glance at the cards over your shoulder. It’s not until you select the card reading, ‘John Wilkes Booth,’ that he mumbles, “I don’t get it,” and makes his presence known.

He laughs as you jump, startled by his sudden appearance, and grins when a pout quirks your lips. He knows that it’s not on purpose, you don’t seem the type, and it makes the action even more endearing. He really did mean it before, he thinks you’re cute, and seeing you flustered from his teasing is fun for him. He’s used to people behaving one of two ways around him; either being completely immune to his charm, opting to treat him like the dork he’s often remembered as, or they treat him like a king, as if every word he says is worth its weight in gold. You, however, he has yet to figure you out and he can tell by the way that you’ve been surveying him, by the way you’ve been surveying the entire band, you haven’t figured them out yet, either.

He imagines that it’ll be fun, keeping you on your toes when Jack told them that you’re often the calm one. He imagines that it’ll be a nice change of pace, keeping you flustered and dropping compliments or sneaking up on you. He’s become quite fond of this, of being able to fluster people instead of it being the other way around, and he plans on having fun with this for as long as you’ll let him.

“Dick Cheney was Bush’s vice president and he accidentally shot someone while hunting. John Wilkes booth shot Lincoln. I don’t know, it sounded funny in my head,” you explain, frowning when Luke scrunches his eyebrows and processes your words.

“That’s an awful answer,” he laughs as he shifts a little closer to you to see your hand of cards. “What was the question again, What does Dick Cheney prefer?"

You nod and Luke hums. He stares at the cards in your hand, mentally going over all of them, and you feel a little claustrophobic. With a shake of your head, you begin to push away from the table. “You know what, my cards suck. I’m gonna sit this round out and go get a drink,” you mumble as you move to stand.

“No, wait,” Luke laughs, reaching for your arm before you can fully stand, “what about this one?” He gestures to the ‘Harry Potter erotica’ card and giggles as he mumbles the sentence to himself. “That one’s funny,” he giggles with a nod that suggests finality.

If Luke notices that his hand is still on your arm, he doesn’t give any indication. Instead, he keeps it there for a moment to ensure that you won’t run off before he lets go and reaches for the cards in your hands. “Hey, no teamwork!” Calum shouts, pointing at the two of you as Luke plucks the card from your hands and shoves it forward. “We’re all alone in this world. You have to be in this game, too.”

“That got real dark, real fast, man,” one of the techs points out, barely biting back their drunken laughter as Calum himself giggles.

The entire group is wasted, drunk beyond belief, and you never touched the beer that was shoved in your hand upon your arrival. You’re sober, fully aware of each and every thing going on, but you don’t feel as overwhelmed or as out of place as you imagined you would. Usually, you drink at these first events for a bit of liquid courage, searching for something to help you make friends and join the fun, but you find that it’s not needed tonight. You haven’t let your thoughts stray from the game at hand, you haven’t checked your phone or even thought about it, really, and no one has commented on your lack of drinking (other than to ask if you wanted your beer and, if not, could they have it).

You were right in imagining that this tour would be different than all the others. The crew is beginning to feel like family, the guys are beginning to feel like friends, and there’s something magical about it all. You’re not sure if it’s just because this is the first time you’ve seen them dressed down and acting like they’re having fun or if it’s because you’re genuinely enjoying the company, but as you settle into your chair and let Luke help you pick cards for subsequent rounds of Cards Against Humanity, you don’t really care all that much.

You don’t notice the ticking of the clock, you don’t notice the hours rushing past in a blur of shouting and laughter, but before you know it, the lights are on and the bartender is all but shoving what remains of your group out the door. By the end of the night, you and Luke are the only two who can realistically pass for sober. You only had a few sips of that very first beer but that was hours ago, it almost feels like another lifetime ago, and Luke hadn’t left the table after sitting down for the first game of Cards Against Humanity. He did end up getting his own stack of cards, no longer partnering with you, but watching him play made you appreciate his sense of humor. Most, if not all, of his jokes were the lamest, most ridiculous things you’d ever heard but they made you laugh harder than anyone else. Whenever Luke put down a card, you knew that you were guaranteed to get a laugh.

Toward the end of the night, it ended with you and Luke playing more with one another than with the group. The goal was to make one another laugh more than to amuse whoever chose that rounds black card and you feel a sense of ease with Luke. He still manages to fluster you, he’ll drop the odd compliment or smile at you in a way that he’s noticed makes you cheeks heat and your eyes drop involuntarily, but you feel like you’ve found a friend in him. If anything, you feel like he’ll be another friend that you keep contact with long after you begin touring with other artists.

As the cool night air hits you, a pleasant change from the stuffy bar, you feel a sense of ease wash over you. You still have yet to see the bad, you have yet to see the dark sides of the boys, but you feel like you’ve seen a glimpse of their true selves. Ashton, the sweetheart who gives compliments because he believes them, not to flirt. Calum, the fun-loving goofball who hides behind a mask of silence and stoicism. Michael, the earnest and loving soul who loves his friends and the family he’s made on tour. And Luke, the rockstar who has finally found himself, settling into his own skin and enjoying every moment of it.

You feel like you know them better now, even if you still barely know them at all, but everyone has to start somewhere. You know the little things to look for now, know the little things to keep in mind when deciding how to shoot them, and your heart is lighter than it has been in over a week as you fall into step with a guitar tech who can barely walk a straight line and giggle at Calum’s recounting of their time writing the new record.

As you wander down the sidewalk with what’s left of your group, Luke finds himself thinking the same thing as he stares at your back. You got his humor immediately and even when you didn’t, you still laughed just because he was laughing so hard. This tour is the first one back after a long hiatus filled with misery and heartbreak and he finds himself enjoying the lightheartedness that comes with your presence. He’s only known you for a week, only spoken to you at length in the few hours since stepping onto the elevator with you, but immediately he feels a sense of comfort around you. You feel familiar, comfortable, and he’s afraid if he thinks too hard about it, he won’t like the answer that he comes up with.

So, he decides to not think about it. He decides to have fun flustering you, decides to take joy in the rambling answers you give him after he compliments you or asks a question about why you took a certain photo. He decides to keep you on your toes and, as the tour goes on, finds that you’re able to do just the same with a witty retort or joke.

Three weeks pass before you get comfortable enough in your relationship with the boys to joke with them the way that they’ve seen you do with All Time Low. Three weeks pass before you tease Calum for his drunken repeated introductions in the Cocktail Chats taping, reminding him with a laugh that no one will remember who plays bass in the band if he doesn’t remind them. Three weeks pass before Michael jokes that he’s addicted to video games and you deadpan, “Well, there goes our plan for an intervention. Hope you’re happy with yourself, Michael.” Three weeks pass before Ashton leans into the fifties aesthetic he’s been experimenting with and you ask him where he’d left his time machine.

Three weeks pass before Luke manages to leave you speechless by jokingly asking if you were from Mars and when you stared at him as if he had two heads, finishing his pickup line with, “Because your ass is out of this world.” He was slightly worried that he’d gone over the top, worried that that had been inappropriate, and he looked for you to apologize but when he found his striped pants at the top of his suitcase with a note reading, “My ass has nothing on yours in these pants,” he realized that you recognized it as a joke and retaliated in your favorite way. And when he wore the pants to perform, he grinned at you and struck the most ridiculous pose he could for you to snap a picture.

Four weeks into tour and you feel as if you’re right at home amongst the chaos.

By week five, you’ve managed to become a permeant fixture in the dressing rooms. Sometimes you snap pictures, watching as the boys balance safety cones on their heads or use them to represent the Madonna cone bra, and others you sit in an unoccupied corner and edit photos from the previous show in an effort to keep up with the demand. Some nights, like tonight, you sit on the couch and lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch them banter with one another.

“You’re spacing on me again, honey,” Luke laughs, voice clearly amused and slightly out of breath from running down the hall, Calum hot on his heels, as he settles onto the couch beside you and leans over to place his head on your shoulder. “Oh, that’s a good picture,” he mumbles as he glances at the picture of Calum you’d just finished editing.

You startle, surprised at the feeling of Luke’s head on your shoulder, and shrug it lightly to jostle him before you shake your head. “You’re being nice to me,” you laugh, a teasing grin on your lips as you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, “what do you want from me?”

“Shut up,” he laughs as he reaches for your laptop and begins scrolling through the other photos you’ve taken, “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“He’s nicer to you than he is to any of us,” Michael agrees, sticking his tongue out at Luke as the latter flips him off. You laugh at this, amused by their banter, but before you can retort, Ashton chimes in.

“I thought I was your best friend, man,” he teases, a faux pout on his lips as he settles onto the arm of the couch beside you. “You dumped me, just like that. You never cuddle with me anymore!”

“You dumped me for Calum!” Luke defends, playfully indignant as he huffs and pointedly keeps his eyes on the photographs filling the screen. “You guys even have matching shirts! Do you think we should get matching shirts, honey?” he questions, glancing up at you with the biggest grin you’ve seen from him yet.

You’re still not sure why Luke insists on calling you honey, still not sure why he uses that more than your real name, but he does and it only serves to fluster you more. Every time the word leaves his lips, it stirs something in the pit of your stomach and any time you think about it, you send yourself spiraling down a rabbit hole of guilt. You don’t like thinking about why it makes you feel anything because none of the other nicknames you’ve earned from the boys have any sort of effect on you (except maybe when Ashton jokingly calls you creeper because of your ability to sneak up on them and capture pictures when they least expect it, and that’s a feeling of amusement or annoyance, depending on the day).

In recent weeks, he’s gotten friendlier, closer, flirtier, and all of it makes you feel inexplicably guilty. You’ve been this comfortable, if not more, with other band members. At one point during your most recent tour with them, you and Jack had a weekly routine of cuddling on the bus couch and watching movies (usually with an added Alex piled up somewhere close). You had band members hug and cuddle you, joke and flirt with you, but none of them ever made you feel guilty. You’ve been in a relationship the entire time and none of them ever made you feel like you were maybe venturing into dangerous territory.

With Luke, though, things are different.

You’re not sure why but every time he touches you, every time he tosses his arm over your shoulders or lays his head on your lap after a show, and every time he flirts a little more or calls you another endearing pet name, you feel a prick of guilt. You know that he doesn’t mean any of it as more than a friendly, fun, playful gesture. You know that he’s a flirt, having fun and just living the life he’s always imagined himself living, so you tell yourself not to read too much into it and, for the most part, you haven’t. But the guilt is always there, settled into the pit of your stomach and driving you just a little insane.

“You guys couldn’t pull them off like us,” Ashton retorts, bringing you back to reality, back to the conversation at hand. “I honestly think it’d be sad to see you try.”

“Don’t encourage him, Ash,” you laugh as you nudge Luke’s side and grin at the half-annoyed, half-amused sound that escapes his lips. “If you get us matching shirts, I’ll never speak to you again, Hemmings.”

“You promise?” Luke asks, a glint of mischief glimmering in his eyes as he glances up at you. “Because, I mean, you’re dominating my social life lately, honey. I’ve got to go my own way someday.”

When you stare at him, stone-faced and exasperated, Luke dissolves into a fit of giggles. His favorite reactions of yours are the non-reactions, the ones where you stare at him without indicating any feelings only for them to speak so much louder than your typical reactions. When you look at him like this, exasperated and blank, it cracks him up every time and he finds himself having to catch his breath as you keep the facial expression for as long as you can before his laughter sends you into a fit of your own.

Across the room, Michael stares at the pair of you for a long moment before he shakes his head and mumbles, “You guys are so weird.”

If either of you hear him, you don’t let on as you allow your giggles to run their course. The two of you are wrapped up in your own little world, wrapped up in one another, and that’s the way it’s become. You and Luke have become attached at the hip, you rarely find one without the other, and everyone has started to take notice. You were never a frequent social media user, you only really updated your Instagram with shots of the bands that you photographed and your website in order to maintain a digital portfolio, but you find yourself stepping away from it more and more the longer the tour progresses.

In the beginning, the comments didn’t really bother you. They were general, people commenting that they were happy to see a woman photographing the group or that they didn’t like the thought of a girl being on tour with the band. But the closer you get to Luke, the more noticeable it is that the two of you are friends rather than just colleagues, the worse the comments get.

Everyone, aside from the people who really know you, assumes that there’s more going on between the two of you than you’re letting on and while the comments have been brushed off as ridiculous, with Luke reiterating his single status any time the question is brought up in an interview, they’re getting more and more persistent. The comments on your posts of tour photos include complaints that you don’t have enough shots of the other boys, critiques about the photos of you they’ve managed to find, critiques about the way you interact with the boys (the number of people that have called you unprofessional for laughing at a joke Calum told during a tour diary has been unreal); they’ve gotten to be so overwhelming that you don’t even check the comments on your Instagram posts anymore. You simply upload photos to the band account and a few on your personal, just to keep it active, and log off.

But you imagine that has something to do with the guilt you feel. The insistence of everyone, the certainty with which they accuse you and Luke of being an item, has you on edge. You know that your friends have seen the comments and you know that Noah has to have seen them, too. You know that he would never accuse you of anything, you know that he understands how out of proportion things are blown online (specifically when it involves a band popular with people who can’t seem to draw a distinction between reality and fiction), but you find yourself wondering how the rumors make him feel. You don’t love him romantically anymore, you haven’t for a long time, but he’ll always hold a piece of your heart and hurting him is the last thing on your mind.

But as the tour progresses, as you and Luke grow closer and the online speculation surrounding you both turns more and more vitriolic, your worry grows. Seven weeks into the tour and you’ve spoken with Noah three times. The last time was almost immediately after Ashton uploaded a photo of you applying glitter to Luke’s eyes and cheekbones, grinning and standing just a little too close with Luke’s arm around your waist. You’d been afraid to look at the comments, afraid of what everyone would say, but you’d done it anyway.

Among the declarations of Luke’s beauty, the comments about the glitter, you found a few about yourself. There were a few comments about your looks, as was becoming standard practice, and a few about your seeming lack of professionalism. There were a few who declared with utmost certainty that you and Luke were an item, you were just waiting until tour was over to make it official (if you ever did). There were a few who questioned why Luke would be with you. There were some questioning why you dared get so close to him and threatening you for it.

Though all of the comments stung, none of them stung quite as badly as the awkward phone call you shared with Noah.

“Hey, I caught you,” Noah’s voice murmurs on the other end of the line, not sounding nearly as enthused as you imagined he would. “Looks like tour is going well.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, fingers absentmindedly tapping your thigh as you sit in the center of your bed. The tour bus is quiet for once, the boys are all showering after the show and the crew is finishing breaking down the setup, so you don’t feel quite so bad taking a call from the boyfriend no one knows you have. “It’s good. Fun.”

Noah is quiet for a moment, almost hesitant, before he breathes, “You and Luke look close. That’s good, you know, making friends.” He doesn’t outright accuse you of anything, doesn’t tell you that he’s seen the comments or that they bother him, but you know that’s what he’s implying. Noah has never been jealous, never been the type to throw wild accusations about, but he’s always had an uncanny ability to read you and what he sees in the photos of you and Luke is what he used to see in photos of the two of you.

“Yeah,” you mumble, quiet as you stare at the polaroids decorating the wall of your bunk. “He’s nice. They all are. They’re cool, you know?”

Noah hums his acknowledgement, letting you know that he heard you, but doesn’t respond for a long moment. “Good,” he finally hums, “I’m glad. It’s good that tour is going well.” The words sound hollow to you, they ring hollow in his own ears, and even though you can tell that he wants to be sincere, that he wants to be happy for you, something about this tour is weighing on him more than any other. So you remain quiet, waiting for him to continue. “You know I love you, right?” he finally asks, the tone of his voice cautious as he does so, not wanting to upset you even though he’s not sure you’re emotionally invested enough to be upset by anything he says anymore.

“Yeah.” You wish you had more to say to that, you wish that you could tell him that you love him, too, or that you never doubted his love for you but you don’t want to. You don’t want to comfort him, you don’t want to give him the wrong impression, so you settle for as vague an answer as you can and wait for him to continue speaking.

Noah breathes a deep sigh, an exhale that tells you he’s stopping himself from saying whatever he’d been planning on saying, before he repeats, “I’m glad that tour is going well. Europe is up next so I’m sure it’s just going to get better.”

“Yeah,” you nod, glancing at the list of tour dates you have written onto a sticky note at the head of your bed. “It’s gonna be great.”

The conversation is awkward, forced, and neither of you say the things that are on your mind. You don’t tell him that you don’t want to do this anymore, that you don’t want to force conversations and pretend that everything is alright. He doesn’t tell you that he’s jealous, that he’s heartbroken because he knows (even if you don’t yet) that you’re falling in love with someone else. Neither of you say the things that are on your mind so the only logical choice is to end the call.

When you hear the door of the bus open, you use that as your escape. “Everyone’s on their way back and I have to go over the photos with the guys now,” you mumble, voice quiet as you hope to avoid any questions about who you were chatting with.

“Sure, yeah,” Noah agrees readily, “have fun. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

You hum an acknowledgement, breathe a quiet, “Talk to you later, bye,” before you end the call and that’s all he needs to hear. You’re not even pretending anymore, not even giving him the illusion of love, and as much as he wants to let you go, he naively clings to some semblance of hope that this is just a phase, that you’re just out of it because you’ve spent so much time away from home.

But as he opens Instagram once more, catches sight of the photograph of you and Luke that’s dominating his ‘Explore’ page, he feels that hope dissipating. He knows that you loved him at one point but looking at this photo, he knows that that time has passed. The look in your eyes is brighter than it ever has been with him, it’s brighter than he’s ever seen you, and it hurts.

You, across the country in a tour bus filled with a myriad of other people, sit in your bunk and stare at the curtain. Even though he hadn’t directly implied anything, even though he hadn’t accused you of anything or even said more than is usual for him, Noah’s allusion to your relationship with Luke struck a chord in you. It’s made you feel guilty and you feel even guiltier for hoping that this will be the last straw, the thing that will push him over the edge and make him break up with you because you still can’t bring yourself to do it.

And that’s the worst part of it all.

Now, eight weeks into tour, the comments have hit a peak of vitriol. After being spotted out at a bar with the boys, sitting beside Luke and laughing at another dumb joke with his arm around the back of your chair, the names have gotten meaner and a few of them have even started dragging Noah into the mix. You can only assume that the guys haven’t read these or that they haven’t put too much stock in them because no one has asked you about him. A few people have commented, mentioning that you have a boyfriend and that you’re either just friends with Luke or cheating on Noah. Others speculated that you and Noah broke up, you must’ve for you to be out openly flaunting your relationship with Luke. You imagine that the guys, if they’ve read the comments, assume the latter and just leave it be.

Whatever the case, when Ashton called to ask if you wanted to go to a bar with them, you turned him down. You gave the excuse that you wanted to stay at the hotel and get some work done, you told him that you needed some time to edit and get the newest tour diary ready, but he didn’t buy your explanation.

“If you really want to stay in and work, that’s fine,” he begins, voice gentle as he weighs each of his words, “but if this is about the comments online, about the people being assholes, you can’t let them dictate your life. You have to live for yourself, not for them.”

“I know,” you nod, even though he can’t see you. “I know. But I really do need to get some work done. Plus, I have a hotel room to myself. I don’t have to share a bathroom with any boys. I can just sit in the tub and drink wine if I want. I’m going to take advantage of that.”

Ashton laughs at this and even though he’s still not convinced, even though he knows that you’re only taking advantage of the amenities because of the comments, he lets it go. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t pry. Instead, he tells you that he’ll text you the address of the club in case you change your mind. And true to his word, the moment you end the call, Ashton sends you the address and reminds you that you’re always welcome to join them, regardless of what anyone else might believe.

Although your thoughts are scattered and your stomach is churning with the guilt you’ve felt since Noah called, you attempt to get some work done. You sift through photographs, searching for the best ones for Instagram and the best ones for Facebook, you pick and choose which ones to edit and which ones to leave as raw files for the time being. You settle into the groove of working, of scrutinizing photographs instead of letting your thoughts consume you, and you almost miss the quiet knock at your door as you focus on the task at hand.

With a confused frown, you abandon your laptop on the bed and cross the room just as a second quiet knock sounds. You should’ve expected it, should’ve realized that it could be no one other than Luke, but you still feel a mild tinge of surprise as you catch sight of him. He looks soft, sleepy, and it makes you smile as you take him in. His hands are shoved in his pockets, sweatshirt and sweatpants covering him, and you find yourself enjoying this side of Luke.

You’re not sure what’s changed in the past week but after nearly two months together, Luke has gone from swaggering, confident rockstar who flirts with you any chance he gets to blushing and quiet. He’s more cautious about the way he touches you, more careful in choosing his words, and he blushes a pretty pink every time you call him sunshine or rockstar, your two favorite nicknames for him. The change felt sudden to you, almost abrupt, but you managed to roll with it. Luke, on the other hand, still feels a bit disoriented whenever he thinks about why he’s now acting like a fourteen year old with a crush around you.

“So, when are you going to tell her that you’re in love with her?”

Luke frowns, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he glances up from his notebook to watch Ashton take a seat beside him on the couch. He isn’t sure what he means by that, isn’t sure who Ashton is talking about, and he tells him as much. “Who am I in love with?”

“Really, man?” Calum asks as he passes the pair of them to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. He breathes your name, says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Luke immediately shakes his head.

“No,” he laughs, reaching for his pen once more. “I’m not in love with her. We’re just friends.”

“Denial isn’t healthy,” Ashton reminds him with a grin as he glances over Luke’s shoulder to get a glimpse of the lyrics he’s been working on. “But it’s good for the songwriting process, I guess. You writing her a love song?”

Luke opens his mouth to issue a denial, to tell Ashton that he’s not writing a love song for you, but as he thinks about it, as he really considers the motivation behind the lyrics he’s been working on so diligently, he realizes that Ashton is right. He’s had the idea for a while, had it months ago when he couldn’t sleep, but the inspiration never came to him. The inspiration for the lyrics eluded him until he spent a day with you, giggling and watching ridiculous YouTube videos and conspiracy theory documentaries, uninterrupted by the outside world. That night, after returning to his bunk with a heart full of joy and a clear head, he found himself scribbling lyrics until well into the hours of the early morning.

Now, as he refines the lyrics and works them into a better song, he realizes that the person he’s describing, the feelings he’s portraying, they all lead back to you.

He isn’t sure when things changed. He knows that he found you attractive when you joined the tour but it wasn’t his intention to fall for you. He’d only been meaning to joke around, maybe make a friend, but he’d never intended to be anything more than friends with you. But, as he really thinks about it, he can see that there’s been a hard truth at the core of every flirtatious remark he’s made. He can see that every compliment he’s given you, every tough you’ve shared, every minute of quality time, it’s all been motivated by his desire to get to know you better and to woo you. The butterflies he’s felt since first meeting you, the ones he’s desperately ignored because he doesn’t want to get hurt again, now feel like they’re swarming in the pit of his stomach and he can’t help himself as he breathes this revelation aloud.

“I am writing it for her.”

Ashton giggles at this, laughs at the look of confusion and slight awe on Luke’s face, and shakes his head. “Yeah, man. We know that. Glad you finally realize it, too. You gonna tell her or are you just going to keep pretending that it’s just friendship?”

Luke falters at this question. He knows that he should say something, that he should tell you before he gets in too deep, but he’s afraid. He feels the fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach, the fear of getting hurt again and of loving again, but he likes to think he knows you fairly well at this point. He likes to think that you wouldn’t hurt him, not in the way he’s been hurt before, but he thinks back to the comments he’s seen online. He thinks back to the name he’s seen tossed around, Noah, and the speculation from fans. He’d written it all off as people reading too much into a situation but, as he thinks about it, he realizes that his motivations and feelings have been obvious to everyone but himself.

He wants to tell you, but the comment that kept popping up and the latest source of debate among the fandom has him pressing pause. “I know it’s dumb,” he begins, carefully selecting his words, “but have you seen the comments online? The ones that talk about her boyfriend.”

“I feel like people are speculating,” Ashton shrugs as he reaches for his own bottle of water. “Maybe they saw an old picture from a previous relationship. Maybe she mentioned it a while back. She hasn’t said anything, though and, in my opinion, she seems just as into you as you are into her. I mean, if you really want to confess, you could always ask her. If, by some weird chance, she says she does have a boyfriend, you could just back off, you know? Keep it friendly. But if she’s single, go for it.”

Luke thinks about the nights the two of you have spent bantering with one another, laughing and joking and enjoying one another’s company. He thinks about the flirting that the two of you have done and the ease with which you accept his affection. He thinks about the way that only he seems to be able to fluster you or that you only respond to his flirting with flirting of your own.

“You’re right,” he nods, blinking as he looks up to glance at Ashton. “She would’ve mentioned it by now,” he shrugs. He pauses for another moment, hesitates, before he quietly admits, “I haven’t felt like this in a really, really long time. I’m afraid, Ash.”

“That’s normal,” Ashton nods, smiling encouragingly at his friend as he reaches out to pat his arm. “Putting yourself back out there is tough but you’ve been happier than I’ve seen you in a long time since you started hanging out with her. The two of you are good together and I think that you should go for it.”

Following his talk with Ashton, Luke decided that the best course of action would be to confess his feelings. He decided that, despite his terror, you were worth it. He knows it’s a bit naive but he’s built you up in his mind, built you to be this person that won’t hurt him just because he feels a comfort he’s never known around you. He feels at ease whenever you’re around, comforted and lighthearted, and he thinks back to the first week of tour when he first realized that something about you made him feel at home. He’s never met someone with that instant of an effect on him and he reasons that there has to be something there, there has to be something other than just his mind playing tricks on him, so he decides that you have to know.

He doesn’t want to tell you in front of everyone, doesn’t want his confession to be the gossip of the tour (even though he’s since learned that your relationship is a topic that everyone, not just fans, speculate about). So, he waits. He waits until he knows that he can get you alone, waits until he knows that you’ll be in a setting where a confession won’t embarrass either of you, no matter how it goes, and his time comes when Ashton sends him a text that reads, “She’s not going out with us tonight. I’m guessing you’re staying in now, too?”

When Luke replies in the affirmative, Ashton sends him a text wishing him luck and advising him to follow his heart. And before he can think too much about it, before he can talk himself out of it, he finds himself wandering down the hall to your room and knocking quietly on the door.

When you answer, dressed in a tour sweatshirt and shorts, he feels his heart melt at the sight of you. You look comfortable, at ease and dressed down, and it makes him smile. He knows that the gesture must read as lovesick, as too deep into his own feelings to really be conscious of how he looks, but when he sees the same smile reflected back on your face, it fills his chest with a warm hope. It makes him happy, puts him at ease, and he brushes past you with a quiet, “Thanks,” as you open the door wide and gesture for him to enter.

Luke settles at the head of the bed, settles against the mountain of pillows, and grabs your laptop. He smiles at the photo on the screen, a look of awe on his face as he takes in the picture of him that you managed to capture. He truly means it when he tells you that you’re his favorite photographer they’ve taken on tour, he truly means it when he tells you that you manage to capture the best photos of him, and he truly means it when he breathes, “I don’t know how you do it. You always make us look so amazing. You make me look so amazing.”

“You make my job too easy, Hemmings,” you compliment, a smile on your lips as you watch him scroll through the photos. “You’re a natural born rockstar,” you continue as he pauses on a photo of himself, looking every bit the rockstar he had felt in that moment.

Most of the time, whenever the two of you are together, everything feels simple. There is no underlying tension, no pauses or thought or intentionality put into the words that spill past your lips. However, there has always been an underlying sense of sincerity in each of your statements. Though everything is usually accompanied by a joke or said in such a tone that implies your amusement, you know that the other truly means what they say when sharing compliments. You’ve been complimentary almost the entire tour. You’ve never been shy about telling them when shows were fantastic or when they looked particularly good for a shoot, but the banter between the two of you is always light.

Even when your words come from places of utmost sincerity, they’re often masked with a thin, protective layer of humor. When the two of you are complimenting one another’s looks, even though you both sincerely mean your compliments, you mask the flirting under the guise of joking or lightening the mood. When you tell him just how good he is on stage, just how much of a rockstar he is, he knows that you’re sincere but you usually mask it with a joke or an over-exaggerated, “Let me live, Hemmings.” When he compliments your photography, even though he wants to gush that you’re the best photographer they’ve ever had, he disguises his compliments under a layer of flirting and innuendos that you’ve come to associate with him.

Although you’re easily the closest to Luke out of anyone on the tour, there’s still a protective layer of whimsy, a protective layer of lightness, that keeps you both from sharing anything more too deep. When he really thinks about it, he doesn’t know much, if anything, about your life outside of tour. He knows that you have a dog, knows that you’ve been photographing bands for almost as long as he’s been touring. He knows that you like the color green and that you hate waking up early. He knows your favorite movies, knows the things that irritate you or the things that make you happy. But he realizes that it’s all superficial, realizes that it’s all surface level, and he wants to know more. He wants to really know you, wants to know the person behind the camera, the girl behind the humor, and that’s how he knows that he’s in too deep.

Luke falling silent isn’t a feat that you manage much anymore. Since deeming you comfortable, since deeming you a friend, Luke has kept the conversation lively and the atmosphere light with you. Though he’ll sometimes sit with you in a comfortable silence, he never looks like he’s lost in thought or concerned about something. With you, he always seems at ease, content, even happy. But as you study him, watch him stare at the same photo for more than a minute, your own smile falters.

You hesitate for a second, wondering if you’re reading into his expression, but you like to imagine that you’ve gotten fairly good at reading Luke. You like to imagine that you can detect the little things, the little traces of uncertainty or confusion, the little traces of hesitance or fear, and you can see a little bit of all of those things swirling in his eyes. So, without too much of a pause, you ask, “You okay, Lu?”

“We’ve spent every day together for the last two months and I just realized that I don’t know anything about you,” he breathes, almost surprised by the fact. “We’ve gotten so close and I don’t even know if you have any siblings.”

You stare at him for a moment, surprised by his answer, before you giggle. “That’s it?” you question. “You could always ask, you know,” you laugh as you nudge his shoulder. “You had me worried. I thought something was wrong. You’re never quiet.”

“I am, too,” he defends, smiling slightly as he shifts to hand you back the laptop and moves to place his head on your shoulder. “But that’s not important. Do you? Have siblings, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you nod, almost absentmindedly as you return to editing your photos. This is the routine for the two of you, Luke sitting with you as you edit, usually him rambling about a new band he’s found or a movie he’s seen, but you imagine that this time, your night will consist of him questioning you about your life and you answering as best as you can. “I have an older brother. He has kids, in case you were wondering. Two little girls. I get to play aunt whenever I go home and visit.”

“Do you get to see your family often?” he asks as he watches you adjust the color on a photo.

“Not as often as I’d like but probably more often than you get to see yours,” you shrug. “I FaceTime my mom a lot, though. Her best friend moved away when I was young but they’ve kept in touch and on my first actual tour, I ended up going through the town that she lives in. My mom mailed a care package to her house and had her bring it to me at the venue. I didn’t get any of the cookies, the guys ate them all, but it was a nice gesture, you know?”

Luke smiles at this, turning his head to glance up at you. He can see the small smile on your face, can see the fondness in your eyes, as you talk about your family and it makes his heart swell. He loves his family, they’ve always been one of his biggest priorities, and it only serves to further solidify the feelings he’s been harboring for you knowing that you’re as devoted to his family as he is to his.

“Why photography?” he asks after a beat of silence. He’s always wondered what made you choose photography, always wondered what made you consider a life on the road, but he’s never really thought to ask before now. But, as the two of you sit in the quiet, nearly freezing room (he briefly thinks that, should the two of you end up together, he’s going to have to buy a few more blankets for his place because he knows that you love to be cold and wrapped in a blanket), he takes the opportunity to delve into your life.

“My mom’s one of those people that’s had a million jobs. She’s good at everything. She was a cosmetologist, a baker, a painter; she’s done a little bit of everything. But photography was always the thing she loved the most. She took a lot of freelance gigs, doing photos for people around town, graduation photos and weddings and things. She always had this really nice camera, my first one, actually, and she let me play with it. My brother was never allowed to touch it because he broke anything he put his hands on but she let me take photos around the house, in the backyard, at my brother’s football games. And I just fell in love with it. I loved capturing moments, memories. I loved making people feel connected to the people in my pictures even if they didn’t know them. I loved being able to tell a story with a still image, you know?

My mom realized how much I loved it and she recognized that I was good at it. So, she gave me her camera. She let me do some of her freelance gigs and that’s how I got started. My brother’s band was the first one I ever photographed. They were awful, like, the worst band you’ve ever heard. But everyone said I made them look really cool. They said that I made them look like a real band in my pictures so I kept at it. I photographed any band that would let me and then I ended up moving to Los Angeles to keep doing it. And I’m lucky, it’s my life now. And I really love what I do.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever shared that reason with anyone. You told Noah that you moved to Los Angeles for school, told him that you only really started music photography when you moved to the city, because he was always so successful. He was always the one who had a bright future, a set career path that was determined by the most sensible option, and you felt silly for following such a frivolous dream. You were afraid that he would judge you.

But with Luke, you know that he would never. He, too, had followed a frivolous dream. He, too, had risked it all to make the impossible happen. You know that he understands and you don’t filter your thoughts as you share the reasoning behind your career with him.

“I think our moms would get along,” Luke muses, a small smile on his face as he shifts his position and moves to lay on his side and rest his head on the pillow at the head of the bed. The small smile on his face remains as he watches you continue to work. “My mom was one of our first supporters. She went on tour with us for the first few years.”

“That’s honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” you laugh as you glance down at him. “That’s a really cool mom.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “it was a weird time but I’m really grateful for her.” The pair of you lapse into a short, but comfortable, silence as Luke thinks about his next question. He already feels like he knows so much more about you than he did upon entering your room and it’s only serving to rouse the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. But he swallows them, bites back his feelings, and asks, “What’s your favorite tour you’ve been on?”

You think for a moment, chewing your bottom lip as you mentally run through the list of tours you’ve been on, before you answer, “Warped Tour. It was insane. I got to photograph so many people and I got to meet bands I’ve always loved. I went in a really good year and it was the most fun I’ve ever had. But every tour I’ve been on has been a favorite for one reason or another. I’ve been really lucky and have had a really good run.”

“Even with us?” he asks, teasing smile on his lips as he glances up at your face.

“Even with you guys,” you confirm, laughing as you reach out to nudge him. “This tour has been a different experience for me. This is my first time in years coming into a tour where I didn’t know anyone. I’ve been touring with the same bands for the last few years and it’s been fun but this tour kind of reminded me what else is out there, you know? I’ve had so much fun photographing you guys because it’s new. It’s different. It feels refreshing.” You pause for a moment before you shrug and add, “And, I mean, you guys aren’t bad company, either.”

Luke laughs at this, his nose scrunching as he does so, and it makes your own smile grow larger as you glance down at him. You feel giddy every time you make him laugh, you feel accomplished and like you’ve managed an impossible feat even though Luke is one of the most easily amused people you’ve ever met. But making him laugh feels good and you find yourself thinking that you wouldn’t trade hearing that sound for the world.

“I’m glad you’re with us,” he confesses as he shifts to sit back up. “We weren’t sure, when Jack suggested you, but you’ve been the best photographer we’ve had so far. And, I mean, you’re not bad company, I guess,” he teases, a small smile on his face as he watches you light up at the compliment.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special, Lu,” you laugh with a shake of your head. He knows that you mean it, knows that his compliment flustered you and that you’re deflecting by making a joke out of it, and the smile on your face is so endearing that he really can’t help himself.

He feels the overwhelming urge to just confess to you, to tell you that he’s got feelings for you, but the moment he says, “Hey, honey,” and you turn your head to look at him, he goes with his gut and leans in to press a chaste kiss against your lips, instead.

You freeze at the action, both taken entirely by surprise by his sudden affection and not surprised at all. Deep down, you know that you saw this coming. You know that you saw the underlying affection, you know that you felt the same butterflies that Luke has all along, but you convinced yourself that reading the comments online from people who were absolutely convinced that you and Luke were in love had just gone to your head. You convinced yourself that you were reading too much into it because they were reading too much into it. You convinced yourself that nothing would happen and that neither of you felt anything.

But the moment Luke’s lips touch yours, every feeling you’ve repressed out of a sense of loyalty to a relationship that no longer exists bubbles to the surface. Every feeling that you’ve ignored, every sign that pointed to you having feelings for Luke that you overlooked, every butterfly and every fluttery heartbeat crashes over you like a wave and renders you motionless. You know that you should push Luke away, you know that you should ask him to leave and bite the bullet, ending things with Noah before you confront Luke about your feelings, but as Luke begins to pull away, you find yourself slipping. You find yourself reaching out to cup his cheek and hold him in place. You find yourself settling into the kiss, your mind blanking of anything that doesn’t include kissing Luke.

You find yourself pretending that this is where you’re supposed to be and that everything is right with the world.

As the kiss deepens, as you move your arms to wrap around his neck, Luke closes your laptop and moves it out of the way in an effort to get closer to you. He finds himself flush against you, chest to chest, as you tangle your fingers in his hair and his hands move to your hips. There is nothing frenzied about this kiss, there is nothing inherently lustful or indicative that it will lead to anything other than a kiss. This kiss is the confession he’s been waiting for, his way of telling you everything he’s been hiding, even from himself, and it’s a confirmation that you feel those things, too.

The kiss is the culmination of weeks of flirting, of weeks of repressing feelings and lying to yourselves, but the moment he pulls away to speak those words aloud, to tell you that he’s got feelings for you and that he wants to explore them, that he feels like you do, too, the violent vibration of your cell phone against the nightstand tears you both out of your fantasy world. It reminds you that the world still exists, even though you often forget that fact when you’re together, and he reaches blindly for it, thinking that it’s Ashton or maybe even your mother.

But when he sees the name Noah, the one that’s been filling the comments of every picture of him that’s been taken by you, and when he sees a photo of a smiling man, looking just as lovesick as he’s felt these past few weeks, he realizes that he should’ve listened. He realizes that he should’ve listened to the comments, should’ve taken them as more than just jealousy and speculation. He should’ve asked, should’ve trusted that if something could go wrong, it would.

But he didn’t. He trusted his heart. He was seconds away from handing it to you on a silver platter and, as he stares down at the screen, he feels a sense of betrayal filling the pit of his stomach. He feels bile rising in his throat and he wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, wants to believe that maybe it’s a coincidence or you’re still friendly with him, but when he sees the look of horror on your face, the look of guilt and panic, he knows. He knows that Noah is, indeed, your boyfriend and he hates himself for even thinking it but he can’t help wondering what would’ve happened had he not seen the call.

He did, though. He saw the name flash across the top of the screen, saw the look on your face, and he doesn’t hesitate to scramble off of the bed and cross the room. He hears you asking him to wait, hears you running after him, but he doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t stop or look back, he rushes down the hall and slams his door behind him. He waits, back pressed against the cool wood, for you to knock but you never do. He wants to look through the peephole, wants to see if you’re still in the hallway, but he doesn’t let himself. Instead, he slides down and sits at the door, knees pressed to his chest, and thinks about what could’ve been.

You, on the other hand, return to your room on shaking limbs and stare at the cellphone lying on your bed. The screen indicates a missed call with no voicemail and you don’t know if you’re relieved that he didn’t leave a voicemail or if that frightens you. No matter the situation, though, you know what has to be done. With trembling hands, you grab the cellphone and call him back, afraid that you’ll start sobbing the moment you open your mouth.

You hadn’t meant for this to happen, you never intended to hurt him in this way, but you know that you have to confess. Even if you don’t love him anymore, you owe him an explanation and you owe it to Luke to finally cut ties.

So, immediately after Noah gives his greeting, you breathe, “I’m so sorry, Noah. I really, truly am.”

He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, doesn’t want to believe it when his mind immediately goes to the worst place, but he knows. Without you telling him explicitly, he knows that it has to do with Luke. But he also knows that you’ll torment yourself until you confess so he remains quiet and lets you speak the words you’ve been trying to speak for nearly a year.

“Luke and I kissed. It just happened, it’s the first time something has happened, but it happened,” you confess, your words catching in your throat as you realize that you’re confessing to cheating on him. Noah, having expected far worse, releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He was expecting you to confess that the pair of you have been having an affair, that you’re madly in love, but he knows that you never would’ve been able to handle the guilt of cheating on him. However, the next words out of your mouth, even though he’s known for a while, are still enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

“I don’t know when I fell out of love with you but I did. I don’t know when I stopped wanting to be with you but I did. I don’t know when this relationship became a habit rather than an actual relationship but it has and I’m so sorry. I should’ve said something sooner, I should’ve tried harder to tell you that I didn’t want to be with you anymore, but I tried and you looked so hurt that I just couldn’t do it again. But no matter what happens, I know that it’s going to hurt. I know that, no matter what, the end of a relationship is always painful and I’m so sorry that I just kept stringing you along. I loved you for a really long time and you made me so happy and I’m so sorry, Noah.”

Noah is silent for a long moment. You almost wonder if he hung up, if he’s just left you rambling into thin air, but a heavy sigh tells you that he’s still there. You wait, biting back a sob that you know you have no right to release, and give him time to think.

It shouldn’t have felt like a punch in the gut because Noah realized a long time ago that you fell out of love with him. When you broke up with him, he thought that it was just because you were afraid of what would happen when you were on tour. He thought that it was a normal reaction and that you were protecting your heart. But now he realizes that that was you attempting to protect his. He realizes that you were trying to get out before things got to this point but he hadn’t let you and you hadn’t tried again.

He doesn’t blame himself but he also doesn’t blame you. And he’s sure to tell you as much.

“I know,” he sighs. “I think I’ve known for a while but I didn’t want it to be true. I wanted us to be forever, you know? But you can’t force forever. I should’ve let you go when I realized that things were over. We both made mistakes but it’s okay. And I know you didn’t have to tell me about you and Luke but I appreciate the fact that you did. The two of you clearly have something and I really hope it works out for you.”

“How are you this understanding?” you question as you fall onto the bed and settle at the foot of it, your head in your hands as attempt to control your breathing. “How are you still so good?”

“You were right when you said this felt like habit more than a relationship. I was distraught at first, when I realized, but I think that I’ve come to terms with it now. If you’d told me this a few months ago, I might’ve been more upset but I really do understand. And I think I might’ve met someone, too. I don’t know. I haven’t really spent any time with her but maybe now I will.”

“You should,” you nod, “you deserve to be happy, Noah. You’re a really good person.”

“You are, too,” he assures you. “It’s not your fault that you didn’t feel it anymore. You wanted to spare me and I get that. One mistake doesn’t make you a shit person. It gives you something to learn from. It gives us both something to learn from. It’s a shitty lesson,” he laughs, “but it’s a lesson, nonetheless.”

“I’m sorry, Noah,” you repeat quietly. “I really, truly am.”

“I know,” he promises. “And I forgive you. I’ll always support you and I’ll always love you. Maybe not in the way that I’ve loved you in the past but I’ll always have a special spot in my heart for you. Besides, we’re co-parents. We have to keep it civil for the kid’s sake.”

You forgot how easy it was to laugh with Noah when things were good. You forgot how easy it was to just enjoy talking to him. But you agree. You’ll always have a place in your heart for him, too, and you tell him as much. “Be happy, Noah. Get to know that girl and enjoy yourself. I’ll come get my stuff when I get back to the city. We have a break in a few weeks so I can grab it then.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughs. “You’re in the middle of tour, you don’t have time to apartment hunt. You’ll only be in town for, what, a few days? You stay here, I’ll go visit my parents. When you get done with tour, then you can worry about it. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, continually surprised by his graciousness, “yeah. You, too, Noah. Take care.”

It feels strange ending the call without hearing an ‘I love you’ but he does. He bids you a goodbye, promises to keep you updated on your dog, and just like that, a relationship that’s spanned your entire adult life is over.

You imagined that ending the relationship would give you a sense of relief. You imagined that ending the relationship would make you happier or ease the burden you’ve been feeling for so long now. You were hoping that the ending would carry with it some magical release, some sense of freedom, but it doesn’t, not now. You hate that this happened, you hate that you betrayed Noah even if you’ve long since stopped loving him, and you hate the sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you think about Luke.

You know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t want to listen to you. You know that he likely feels betrayed, you know from his reaction that he’s seen the comments online and that he’d ignored them, only for that to come back and bite him in the ass. You’ve heard the interviews, heard him talk about the songs he’d written for the album and the feelings that put him in such a dark place. You know that it had to have been so incredibly hard for him to put his heart out there like that again and you crushed it almost immediately. You know that you’ve been sending him the wrong signals, you know that this is all your fault, and it makes the tears fall a little faster.

You feel selfish, you feel guilty, but you you can’t help it. The sobs wrack your body, shoulders shaking and heart pounding, and it’s only made worse as you think that you have no right to cry. The harder you try to stop, the harder you try to pull yourself together, the harder you cry. It gets to a point where you feel like you can’t breathe and you find yourself standing from your spot at the foot of the bed and stumbling into the bathroom to splash some water on your face. You have no one to call, not anymore, so you let yourself sink onto the bathroom floor and bring your knees to your chest as you focus on regulating your breathing.

The one thing that you said you’d never do, the one thing that you swore you’d never do, is cheat on a partner. Though you were emotionally checked out of the relationship, though the relationship was over in every way but officially, you still feel guilty beyond measure as you stare at the tile floor.

And the next morning, when you venture into the lobby to join the group in heading to the venue, you feel as if everyone is staring at you. You know, realistically, that no one glances twice but the whispering (that you would’ve usually attributed to the massive hangovers you’re certain everyone has) and the laughter (typically at those suffering from hangovers) sets you on edge. The only people that you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that know are the ones who won’t even look at you.

Instead of the warm greeting you’re used to getting from Ashton and the nod and quiet good morning you get from Calum, you receive silence. Neither of them even look at you as you step into place behind them, camera around your neck to capture the day. Luke doesn’t join the group until the moment you leave, lagging behind as far as he can so as to avoid you. He doesn’t look at you, not even when you breathe his name, and you deflate as you stare at his retreating back.

You don’t want to push, don’t want to insert yourself somewhere you’re not wanted, but you’re forced to ride with them to the venue to capture some of the drive for the tour diary. You film small clips, hoping they look like candids of them staring out the window or closing their eyes to get some rest, but you know that they’re all just avoiding looking at you. You ended up in the very back with Michael, Luke took the passenger seat and no one fought him for it.

You want to beg him to talk to you, beg him to let you explain the situation, but he doesn’t slow down as he steps out of the car and enters the venue. He doesn’t wait for the others, doesn’t stop for fans, and you do your best to hide your face behind the camera as you take pictures of Ashton, Calum, and Michael meeting fans. They play it off as Luke not feeling well, play it off as him needing to rest before the show, but you can see the way that some of them look at you. You can feel them staring at you and it feels as if they’re looking into your soul as they scrutinize you.

You do your best to ignore it all, do your best to pretend that it’s fine, but the moment you step inside the venue, you reach out and grab Ashton’s arm.

“Ashton, please let me explain myself. It’s really not as simple as you think.”

Ashton stares at you for a moment, facial expression unreadable, before he shakes his head and gently brushes your hand away from his arm. “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he shrugs as he nods toward the dressing room. “It matters what Luke thinks. And he thinks that you were going to cheat on your boyfriend with him and he feels like shit.”

You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that things between you and Noah have been over for a long time now, but before you can, the tour manager calls your name and pulls your attention away from Ashton. “We wanted to get some shots of the set up and then a few of soundcheck. I think we have enough dressing room content for right now so let’s make this priority,” he calls, gesturing for you to follow him.

You go to tell him that you’ll be right there, to just give you a minute, but Ashton shakes his head. “Just go,” he sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, “you have a job to do.”

The biting sting of rejection hits you hard as you watch Ashton walk away. The one person you thought would listen to you, the one person that you imagined would understand and help you reach out to Luke, won’t even listen to your explanation. It almost feels hopeless at this point, feels hopeless to try, but as you follow the tour manager through the winding maze of backstage, you tug your phone from your pocket and type a message to Luke. “I really need to talk to you. I promise it isn’t what you think. Please.”

You don’t know what you expect from sending the message. It’s not like you expect him to magically forgive you, it’s not like you expect him to magically drop whatever he was doing and come running to you, but you don’t expect to be left on read. You don’t expect to be ignored. But, when you really think about it, maybe you should have.

Luke is the type to shut down when he’s upset. He goes quiet, loses himself in his thoughts, protects himself as best as he can. It hurts to know that you’ve pushed him to this point, hurts to know that you’re the reason he’s shutting down, but that’s the way he does things. He feels betrayed and you understand that. He’s been cheated on, knows how it feels to be on the other end, and you can only imagine that he’s feeling a strong sense of guilt himself. You know that he would’ve never kissed you had he known about Noah and you know that he’s beating himself up for not listening to the fans.

As you wander the building with the tour manager, snapping half-hearted shots of the crew preparing for the show, the venue itself, the fans waiting outside, Luke settles into a corner of the dressing room and grabs his guitar. He strums without really thinking about it, without any sort of meaning or sense of direction, and stares at the wall in front of him. He feels almost numb now and it surprises him. He’s gone through a roller coaster of emotion in the past twenty-four hours and he doesn’t think he likes settling for feeling nothing.

And he tells Ashton as much as soon as he asks Luke how he’s feeling.

��I should’ve just fucking asked,” he breathes, laughing without any trace of humor. “If I’d asked, we wouldn’t be here.”

“You didn’t ask, but she didn’t say anything,” Calum offers as he takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Luke. “None of us knew.”

“I don’t think she would’ve said anything,” Luke muses, voice quiet as he loses himself in thought. “I don’t think she would’ve told me. He called and when I saw the look on her face, I knew.”

Ashton hesitates, he doesn’t want to sound like he’s taking your side when it’s obviously wrong if you kissed Luke while having a boyfriend, but he asks, “Did you ask her if they were together? Maybe it isn’t so straightforward.” When Luke glances at him, brows furrowed and mouth agape, Ashton shakes his head. “I’m not defending her,” he assures Luke quickly, “but you can never be sure of anything if you don’t ask, right?”

But Luke doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to hear confirmation that you’d played along with him, that you’d felt for him what he felt for you, when you had a boyfriend. He doesn’t want to hear confirmation that he was the other man, a feeling he never wanted anyone else to experience. He doesn’t want to hear confirmation that you wouldn’t have told him if he hadn’t seen the photo for himself.

So, he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask and you don’t tell him.

You try, for nearly a week, to get him to speak with you. You try, for nearly a week, to get Ashton or Michael or Calum to speak with you. You try, for nearly a week, to get anyone at all to listen to what you have to say but it’s as if you’ve suddenly become invisible.

Everyone knows that something is up with you and Luke, they know that something had to have happened, and the comments are inescapable. On every social media platform, you see comments asking what you did to Luke and why he’s so upset. Around every corner, you hear murmurs of techs speculating about what happened or wondering why the two of you have suddenly gone cold. Every time you step into the dressing room, camera in hand to get a few shots for the tour diary, you’re greeted with a chill.

The world seems to have stopped and it all hurts.

You try, desperately, for a full week to get Luke to talk to you and it’s only when you overhear the boys pondering finding another photographer for the European leg of the tour that you realize just how fucked you are. It’s only when you hear them tossing out names, mentioning that they’ve been in touch with friends, that you feel your lungs constrict and your eyes fill with tears.

But when Luke agrees that, yeah, it might be a good idea to find someone new, you find yourself retreating to the nook you’ve carved out for yourself in the backstage set up and hoping that no one manages to find you. Although you feel guilty beyond belief, upset with yourself for handling everything so badly, you also feel that this is all being blown out of proportion. It was a single kiss, a single mistake, and you know that the boys are just trying to protect Luke because the past year has been so rough on him, but you’re being battered with vitriol and your job is being threatened and your world feels as if it’s crashing to the ground.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay?”

You try your best to wipe the tears, try your best to pretend that you haven’t just been caught sobbing behind a speaker, but you can’t do much more than nod your head when Emma, Ashton’s girlfriend, crouches down to your level. “I’m fine,” you nod quickly, clearing your throat as you wipe your hands on your jeans and reach for the camera you’d placed on the floor. “Fine. I just had something in my eye.”

Although you don’t know her that well, she’s only recently joined the tour, Emma has been the nicest of anyone to you in the past week. She hasn’t stopped speaking to you, hasn’t gone out of her way to pretend that you don’t exist, and you appreciate that. But you’re not sure how she’ll react to seeing you this way and you don’t want to give her any reason to either pity you or hate you. However, she clearly does not buy your lie and moves to sit beside you, her back pressed to the wall as she meets your eyes.

She pauses for a moment, weighing her words, before she asks, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” When you stare at her, confused, she elaborates. “I’ve heard from Ashton and I’ve heard the guys talk about it but what about you? What happened, the way you see it?”

You stare at her for another long moment before you drop your gaze to the camera in your lap and shake your head. “I fucked up,” you breathe, voice quiet and shaking with emotion. “Noah and I were together for nearly five years. I don’t know when I fell out of love with him but I did. I tried to break up with him but nothing ever worked and I didn’t push because I didn’t want to hurt him. Our relationship hadn’t been a relationship in months before this tour started and when I left home, that was the end. We only talked once or twice the entire time and I didn’t even realize I was falling for Luke until we kissed. And it was a moment of weakness, a mistake. I should’ve told him, I should’ve broken up with Noah a long time ago, but I didn’t and I feel so fucking awful because I hurt both of them.”

Emma doesn’t speak. Instead, she realizes that you have more to say and remains quiet as she waits for you to catch your breath.

“I deserve it, but everyone is just making me feel so much worse about it. It was just a kiss and I know that’s still bad but the number of comments I’ve gotten in the past week telling me to kill myself for upsetting Luke are insane. And the guys won’t even look at me. I’ve tried so hard to get Luke to talk to me. I’ve tried so hard to get him to at least look at me. But he won’t and I feel like I’ll never get the chance to explain myself. I don’t think it’ll help any but I don’t think it’ll hurt that much, either. And now they’re talking about getting a new photographer for Europe and that’s a good idea because I don’t think I can handle this anymore.”

By the time you finish speaking, the sobs have returned and the ache in your chest feels magnified tenfold. Emma feels for you, she feels her heart break as she listens to your side, and she doesn’t hesitate to move to sit by your side and bring you into an embrace. She feels for Luke, she knows how much it hurts to be cheated on and knows how bad he must feel to have been the other person, but she also realizes that it was a kiss. A one time action that doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment. She also knows how it feels to be on the receiving end of the negative fan attention but this attention, the kind of comments she’s seen you get, are far worse than any she’s ever received and her heart breaks for you.

She doesn’t attempt to speak for a long moment, doesn’t really know what to say. She keeps you in a hug, keeps you close to her, as she thinks about her words. After weighing them carefully, she finally sighs. “It was a mistake,” she agrees as she allows you to pull away. “It was a mistake and you clearly have learned from it. The boys are being childish and I’ll talk to them,” she offers but you immediately shake your head.

“Please, don’t. I don’t want them to think any less of me. Getting you involved would just be a bad idea. They’ve made up their minds,” you breathe as you wipe your eyes and bring your knees to your chest. “I’m just wondering who they’ll get to tell me I’m fired.”

“You’re not getting fired,” she assures you as she reaches out to squeeze your hand. “You’re staying on and everyone’s just going to have to deal with it. You’re the best photographer they’ve ever had. They’re being overdramatic,” she huffs as she shakes her head. “As for the fans, I know it’s the most redundant advice you ever could get, but don’t read the comments. Don’t read you mentions on Twitter. Don’t look at any of it. Post your pictures and log off. Wear headphones when you’re photographing the boys meeting fans or just don’t do it.” When you open your mouth to respond, to tell her that you can’t just not photograph these things, she shakes her head. “Sometimes you have to make boundaries and this can be one of them. Turn off your comments if you have to, stop photographing the things outside the venue where fans are concerned. But don’t let it get to the point where it makes you question yourself or think about listening to one of them, okay?” When you nod at this, she nods. “Good. You should go wash your face. I know you want to pretend that everything’s fine so take a minute, take a deep breath, and come back and shoot the show.”

You nod at her suggestion and allow her to help you stand from your sitting position. As you grab your camera, slipping it around your neck once more, you hesitantly ask, “Can you please not say anything to the guys? They clearly don’t care about my side and I feel like it’ll just be a problem at this point.”

“Sure,” she nods, “I won’t say anything.”

However, the moment you disappear to wash your face, the moment you step outside to get a breath of fresh air, Emma is telling Ashton everything you just told her.

“You guys made me think she murdered his whole family. It was a kiss, Ash, and it was the only kiss. I know that it’s still cheating and I know that she should’ve told him about Noah but don’t you think she deserves a chance to explain herself? Don’t you think that she’s being punished enough online? And you guys are talking about firing her! Luke kissed her! At least let her defend herself before you send her packing.”

As Emma shoves her phone into Ashton’s hands, your Instagram open with the comments clearly displaying just how upset fans are at you, Ashton feels a pang of guilt settle in his stomach. He knows that he should’ve given you a chance to speak, knows that he should’ve heard you out, but he’s been so desperate to keep Luke from going back to that dark place that he didn’t think about how it would’ve affected you. He didn’t stop to think about you at all, really, and he feels like shit as he reads through the multiple comments calling you names (and far worse that makes him feel nauseous to even look at).

He knows that he has to help fix this, has to at least help the two of you find closure, so the moment that Luke steps into the dressing room, Ashton is encouraging him to find you. He’s nudging him back toward the door, shaking his head at every step. “I know,” he reiterates, time and time again. “I know. But everyone deserves a chance to defend themselves. Before we go with another photographer, maybe we should at least hear her explain herself. Maybe you should hear her explain herself. Even if it doesn’t make things any better, at least we’ll know for sure that we need a new photographer,” Ashton reasons as he nudges Luke out the door. “Just listen. You don’t even have to talk. And if it’s still bad, we’ll do whatever we can.”

Luke doesn’t want to hear you out. He doesn’t want to listen to your excuses and he doesn’t want to know why you didn’t tell him that you had a boyfriend. He doesn’t want to know you spent two months flirting with him, why you spent two months making him believe that you were falling just as hard and just as fast as he was, but he knows that Ashton won’t give up until he does. So he looks for you, searches the backstage area and comes up empty. He looks into the empty dressing rooms, glances behind speakers and in any small enough nooks that you might be hiding in, but when he fails to find you, he realizes that you must be in the one spot he hadn’t thought to check.

Sure enough, Luke finds you sitting on the roof of the venue, camera in hand as you take shots of the city skyline. You always told him that you wanted to take a moment and do this, that you wanted to get a few shots of each of the cities from the roof of the venue, but when you were following them around and documenting their every move, you hadn’t had a chance to do so. Instead, you’d settled for getting shots of the scenery surrounding the venue, sneaking in shots as you waited for everyone to pile onto the buses or as everyone settled into the hotel. One night, the closest you came was sitting on the balcony in his hotel room, attempting to shoot the city in the dark. But now, as he watches you fulfill the one dream you’d had for this tour, he feels his heart stutter.

This is the first time he’s really looked at you in over a week, the first time that he’s really paid you any significant attention since the kiss, and he hates that his heart is beating just as fast as it had before this. He hates that the butterflies are swarming in his stomach, hates that his palms are sweaty and that his knees are weak. He hates that he still feels strangely calm despite the flurry of emotions you stir in him, hates that your presence is still just as soothing as it had been in the very beginning. He hates the effect that you have on him.

But more than anything, he hates himself for not talking to you sooner.

He knows, more than anything, that communication is key. He knows that for any relationship to work, there has to be a dialogue. He knows that there has to be some give and some take but, in this case, he hasn’t given any. He knows, realistically, that you would have understood his reasoning for reacting so badly and he imagines he would’ve understood yours, maybe. Even if he doesn’t know what high school you graduated from or the name of the small town you grew up in, he knows you. He knows who you are as a person and he knows that you would never hurt him intentionally.

Sometimes, mistakes happen.

With that thought firmly in his mind, he crosses the short expanse to the edge of the roof and takes a seat beside you. You’re sitting cross-legged, camera in hand as you focus on the scenery, and he settles beside you, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them as he stares at you. He doesn’t speak, not yet, and you don’t acknowledge his presence. He knows that you’re aware of him, knows that you’re aware of who is sitting beside you, but he imagines that you don’t know what to say. You’ve been trying for a week but now that he’s sitting beside you, he imagines that nothing you’ve thought up feels right.

He knows how your mind works, knows that you overthink everything just as badly as he does, so he waits. He waits for you to weigh your words, pick and choose each one carefully, and as he stares at you, skin illuminated by the golden glow of the later afternoon sun, he realizes that he’s willing to wait however long it takes. Something about you, something about your presence, has greatly affected him and he knows that he can’t let that go.

Yes, this is a mistake that needs to be talked about and one that he’s half-certain he’ll always remember, but it was just that. A mistake. And that’s what you assure him of as you open your mouth and finally begin speaking.

“Noah and I were together for almost five years,” you tell him, your voice quiet and barely audible over the wind. Luke shifts a little closer, moves just enough to hear you, but you seem not to notice as you stare into the distance. “He was always good, you know? He supported my photography and forgave me when I missed all the important things in his life because I was off, chasing rockstars. And I loved him for that. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I ever really loved him, you know? Romantically, I mean. I loved him because he was good and kind and supportive but I love my mother because she’s good and kind and supportive.”

You pause for a moment, frowning at something he can’t see, before you shrug and place your camera in your lap. He watches you tap your fingers on your thighs, a nervous habit you’ve picked up from Ashton, and waits for you to continue speaking.

“For a while, I felt like I just woke up one morning and stopped loving him but I don’t think that’s the case. I think it was a long time coming. Maybe I never felt as strongly for him as I thought I did but, whatever the case, I checked out of the relationship about a year ago. We hardly spoke when I was on tour, not for his lack of trying, and I kept myself busier than ever even when I was home. I tried to breakup with him. I actually did, once. But he was so crushed, so heartbroken, that I took him back despite my heart telling me that it would only hurt worse when I finally stopped being such a bitch and broke up with him.

Before I left for this tour, we hadn’t really kissed, nothing more than a kiss you’d share with an elementary school boyfriend, in at least a few months. I don’t know if he thought it was because of our work schedules or if he realized something was wrong and just didn’t want to let the end come but it was over for a while before I even came on tour with you guys. I feel like everyone in my life just figured we were done, you know? And if they thought that, then maybe I would have the courage to break up with him. And I should have. I should have broken up with him a long time ago and just let it go and moved on. But I didn’t want to hurt him.”

Luke watches, his eyebrows furrowed and heart hammering in his chest, as you shake your head and lower your gaze to the roof. “I felt like I owed him, I guess. He was always so good, so supportive, that I felt like I had to stay until he wanted it to be over. He never complained, never got jealous or openly insecure. He was just a really good person and I felt guilty for even thinking about ending things.” You pause for another moment, weighing your words once more, before you breathe a deep sigh and continue. “When I came on this tour, I think that’s when he realized it was over. I think we spoke maybe two or three times before the night you and I kissed and none of those conversations were long or even more than a confirmation that I got to wherever we were headed safely. It was over, in all ways but the one that really mattered, and I’m sorry.”

Luke waits to hear you confirm his suspicion, waits to hear you say that things are officially over, and he doesn’t know if he feels joy or sadness when you do. “I broke up with him. After you left, I called him back. I told him that we kissed. I told him that I fell out of love with him at some point and he wasn’t surprised. Even in the end, he was one of the most understanding people I’ve ever met. But he met someone else and he’s going to see where things go and I hope they go well. He deserves someone who will love him just as much as he loves them. He deserves someone good and you do, too, Luke.”

Luke feels his heart slamming against his ribs as he hears your voice crack. He can see the tears lining your lashes, can see the genuine guilt and the utmost sincerity in your eyes, and he wants to reach out and grab your hand. He wants to assure you that he gets it, that he still feels hurt that you didn’t tell him but he understands that you wanted to spare someone you believed deserved better, but he doesn’t. He can tell that you have more to say so he allows you to continue speaking.

“You deserve better, Luke. You deserve someone who would never hurt you and I’m sorry for this. I should’ve told you about Noah before things got too far. I shouldn’t have gotten so close to you, anyway. It was unprofessional and I’m just really sorry. If you guys still want to find a new photographer for Europe, I can recommend some people. I have a friend that just finished a tour and hasn’t booked anything yet. She’s really good, better than me, and her style is fairly similar so there won’t be too much discontinuity. But I know the fans would be happy to have her. She’s a married lady and her wife is more badass than all of you put together.”

As you continue to speak, Luke realizes that you overheard the others talking about the possibility of getting another photographer. He realizes that you’ve been reading the comments online, the ones that are so vile he contemplated responding on your behalf before he thought better of it. He realizes that this has taken more of a toll on you than he thought it would and he finds himself shaking his head.

He reaches out this time, grabs your hand and squeezes it between his, as you stop speaking. Your words die off, whatever compliment you were giving to your friend fading into thin air as he meets your eyes for the first time in a week.

“We’re not replacing you,” he assures you, his voice just as quiet as yours had been. “That was dumb and I’m sorry it was brought up. I should’ve asked you about him. I saw the comments online and I should’ve asked. But I know you didn’t mean for things to happen this way. I get that, honey.” Luke pauses for a moment, searching for the right words to convey his thoughts, before he breathes, “For the past year, I’ve been learning to feel like myself again. I’ve been trying to feel whole again. I do, now, and this hurt but it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t the same feeling that made me feel like a stranger in my own body and that’s how I know it’s not the same. What happened in the past was a nightmare but this is just a mistake. It was a kiss that shouldn’t have happened when it did but I’m glad it happened at all.

You’re a good person, honey. One fuck-up doesn’t make you an awful person. I understand feeling like you owe someone. I understand staying because you feel like you have to. Do I wish that you’d left before we kissed or that you’d told me about the relationship? Yes. But I get it. I know that you feel guilty and I know that this isn’t something you’ve done before. You’re not that kind of person. I wondered, that night, if things would’ve gone any further if Noah hadn’t called but I don’t think they would have. I think you just got caught up in the moment.”

“Before that kiss, I don’t think I realized I felt anything,” you confess as you squeeze Luke’s hand. “I don’t think I even realized that I liked you as more than a friend or that our flirting was anything more than fun. I felt something, I know I did, but it didn’t register as romantic until that moment and when we kissed, it just felt right. It felt like that’s where I was supposed to be.”

Luke nods his agreement and smiles softly at you. “I didn’t realize I felt anything until a few days before that. Ash caught me writing a song about you and that made me realize that it was more than just me liking to see you flustered.”

“Do you think that maybe we can start over?” you ask, voice small as you glance at him from beneath your lashes. “That maybe we can try again?”

Luke stares at you for a second, smile growing, before he removes his hand from yours and straights up. “I’m Luke,” he offers, hand outstretched to shake yours. When you offer him your hand, your name falling from your lips in a slight laugh, Luke nods at you. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The pair of you sit there for a moment, hands still clasped, before Luke, with pink cheeks and a bashful smile, teases, “I know we’ve just met but I really want to kiss you.”

“Crazy,” you mumble, a slight smile on your lips as you shake your head, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Luke stares at you for another moment, smile growing, before he removes his hand from yours and reaches out to cup your cheeks. His palms are warm against your cool skin and you can feel his breath fan across your face as he leans in close. He lingers for a moment, smiling at the way your eyes flutter shut and your hand rests on his knee, before he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

This kiss, though not as intense as the one you shared a week ago, is more meaningful. It conveys everything you both wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. It conveys every feeling of forgiveness, every feeling of assurance that things will be alright. It conveys the peace you now feel, the happiness and the butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach, and it makes you both happy.

Though you both know that there are still things to talk about, there are still discussions to be had and secrets to be learned, you feel a sense of peace. As Luke wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his side, both of you staring out at the sunset painting the city in hues of pink and orange, you think that everything is going to be alright.

The flirts are always trouble but with Luke, you find yourself thinking that he is more than worth it.

_______________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I thought about just not posting this because it’s long and rambly and, like, who’s going to read this. But I put in days worth of work on this so. Someone enjoy it. What am I writing next? How can I make it complicated and too long? Tune in later to find out.

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aquariusrunes · 4 years

Text

The Superfriends AU (part 12)

Damian kept his eyes on Marinette.

She had been off all day, and their talk that morning had only proven his suspicions. Something was bothering her, and it was all Adrien Agreste’s fault. His fists clenched as the woman in front of him began working on him. Thinking about that blonde tom cat made his blood boil. Whatever he did, Damian would kill him for it. His cousin was sweet and naive despite her vast genius. She wanted to trust people, and when she did, she did it with her whole heart. And that blonde buffoon had broken it in to a million pieces.

It wasn’t just the boy though, no. It was also that stupid video, it had to be. He hadn’t enjoyed it when it was sent to his phone. It was messy and loud, and while he had misjudged the small blonde girl, he still thought the spectacle was stupid. Anyone who poked a cadged animal was stupid, and that was obviously what that Italian girl was.

At least he was finally able to put a face to the name of Lila Rossi.

It was a tactical failure for sure. His cousin had mentioned that she had everything involving the girl under control, but this was not what she could have planned. Marinette looked like she was on the verge of puking all morning, Damian recognized regret easily enough. That had been why he’d tried to talk to her, only to find out that it was the mistake of the morning and something that awful model had done that was upsetting her.

Now his phone was being blown up with messages from the small blonde french girl who was, for some reason, still in his phone as ‘Sweetness.’ She wouldn’t stop texting him, hadn’t since the video had arrived. She apparently got the wrong idea from their earlier correspondence and was now under the impression that they were friends. And she kept asking for pictures of him and Colin.

Said boy was currently the one in possession of his phone. His boyfriend was switching between gleefully rewarching the video with a wickedly satisfied grin and texting with the blonde girl. Damian found the whole thing ridiculous, seeing how Colin didn’t know any French. Yet somehow he and the girl were holding some sort of conversation and he was, apparently, taking immense joy from the video that he couldn’t even understand.

Suddenly a brush was in his face, painting foundation onto his skin. Damian could make a list fifty feet long detailing how much he hated makeup. He would growl at the woman currently caking his face in the disgusting stuff, but Colin was sitting in front of him on the edge of the platform, and the last thing he needed was for the redhead to be mad at him.

Marinette was currently in a changing room, trying on the brand new outfit Edna’s people had slapped together in just under an hour and a half. Chloé was, strangely, also in the changing room his cousin was in. The two girls had been inseparable from one another’s sides since coming back from lunch.

It was strange.

Damian didn’t like it.

The blonde bitch was surely just trying to get his cousin to stop being upset with her precious model, which would not fly while Damian was here. He wouldn’t let Marinette be manipulated like that. Honestly, she was far too trusting. And here he thought she knew better than to trust that bitch. He’d have to talk to her later about Bourgeois. Even if Jon liked her, something was off about the girl, a feeling he couldn’t rip from his gut despite trying for the half Kryptonian’s sake.

Damian’s eyes scanned the room, his mind suddenly being alerted to an absence. Something was missing. Someone was missing. The person’s absence had been nagging at him all morning, but then the empty space was filled during lunch. But it was gone now once again.

“Colin.” he nudge the boy’s back with his foot. “Where did Jon go?”

“Dunno, he got a call from his dad and wandered off to take it in private.” Colin looked up, neck twisted to stare at his boyfriend. “It’s actually weird, because he was on the phone with his mom all morning.”

“Why did Lois call him?”

“I don’t know.” The redhead shrugged. “But it seemed like it really messed with him. I tried to ask him about it but then Mr. Kent called and he disappeared.” Colin’s eyes went back to Damian’s phone, texting out a few more messages before looking back at his boyfriend. “Actually, I haven’t seen Mr. Wayne around either. Do you know where he is?”

“He informed me last night that their was some business he had to attend to, something to do with Diana Prince’s exhibit at The Gotham Museum of Antiquities.” Damian leaned back in his seat, the look Colin gave him making it clear he understood the code. A Justice League Emergency. “He said he should be back before the festivities at the end of the week.”

“Do you know what happened?” Colin asked, turning his whole body to face the boy, scooting over a tad so that the makeup artist wasn’t blocking his view. “At the museum, I mean.”

Damian shook his head, his chin quickly being grabbed by the woman working on him, forcing him to stay still. He bit back a growl before responding. “Wouldn’t tell me a word. Maybe Kent’s filling Jon in on it. If my father’s involved I would assume his father is as well.”

Colin tried not to laugh at his boyfriend’s obvious discomfort. “Guess we’ll just have to wait for him then.” Colin turned back around, eyes going back to the phone. “God she is so nice,” He whispered.

“How are you even holding a conversation with her?” Damian asked.

“Rose is fluent in four languages, English being one of them.” Colin smiled back at him. “I think I’ve made a new best friend.” he teased. Damian just sighed. Between his cousin and his boyfriend, he was never going to get his phone back.

Suddenly Colin’s head whipped back around. “Wait, what would Mrs. Lane have to do with the museum?”

Damian thought for a moment. Lois wasn’t overly involved in Justice League affairs. She was a deputized civilian, meaning she was technically a League member. It was a complicated system that was hard to explain and sometimes difficult even for Damian to decipher. But he did know that Lois handled the bulk of the League's publicity. Thanks to how she handled Superman, and a handful of other heroes, before she even knew their identities.

But what kind of disruption could need Lois, Clark, Bruce, and Diana?

“I don’t know.” Damian resisted the urge to rub his chin. The only thing involving the League and Lois at the current moment was Lex Luthor Senior. The man had been in jail for several months now and his trial was quickly approaching. They’d tried to get that man arrested on several charges including tax fraud, terrorism, and other things, for many year, but nothing ever stuck. But now, now they had him on attempted murder, attempted murder of Lois Lane. Usually this wouldn’t fly, with the public knowing Lois’s loyalties to Superman and the League it would be assumed anything she said to reflect negatively on Luthor would be for the heroes, but they had a witness now.

“The case maybe?” He whispered, hoping to god nothing bad had happened. If that man got out so many things would go up in flames. He would have to get in touch with Tim, ask him to ask Conner. He hated Conor being so involved with his half brother, put if Lex Jr. really was so great, maybe he would have some useful information.

“Case?” Colin asked.

“Look up Lois Lane and Lex Luthor, see what pops up.” Damian turned his attention back to the woman currently painting his lips an ice blue. He didn’t want to discuss such sensitive things carelessly out in public. He also didn’t want Jon to magically appear while they were discussing it. He knew the whole situation was bothering him. But, no one took the attempted murder of their parent well. At least, that’s what Damian’s experience told him.

…

Marinette was living for this redesign.

The tube top had been changed to black, the shall had disappeared, a silver collar, like Chloé’s golden one, now adorned her neck. Instead of the skirt she now wore a pair of high waisted black short shorts, a thick silver belt wrapped around her abdomen. Silk straps in silver, lavender, dark blue, and a lighter black made up the overskirt that hid most of the shorts, only exposing them from the front few. She was also now given shoes, heeled gladiator boots in silver, matching all of her jewelry. The diadem, earrings and bracelets from earlier had also stayed apart of the outfit.

Was it less revealing? No.

If anything it was more so.

But it was a million times more fashionable, and by Edna’s smile said that she knew it too.

Marinette still felt awful, and if anything was a million times more confused after her talk with Chloé, which was still on going. Every time they had a break, the blonde girl would start whispering more of her story, basically retelling the past three years from her perspective.

Chloé was in her outfit from earlier that morning, the two girls were on a platform filled with fake pink, orange, blue, and whtie clouds. Currently Marinette’s back was leaned against the blonde’s, repositioning her head as the photographer dictated.

“I’m a little pissed.” Chloé whispered. “The boy’s get to-” The flash of the camera went off, several photos being taken. “Get to do their photoshoot with bows and arrows. Like that’s so unfair.”

“Bows and arrows?” Her cousin? Angry at Adrien? With a bow and arrow in his proximity? That would not be good.

“Totally unfair, I want to play with weapons too.” Chloé’s pout only lasted a moment before the photographer was ordering them to pose in different positions. The group shots the other day hadn’t been awful, mainly because she was only taking pictures with Damian. It was beyond strange to be all over Chloé, especially with how sensitive her thoughts towards the girl currently were.

She had known.

She had known for years.

She’d been akumatized multiple times with knowledge of both her and her partner’s identities in her head and Hawkmoth never found out. She didn’t even know how that was possible. Just how much control did Hawkmoth really have?

But possibly what had taken her by surprise the most, what she still couldn’t quite believe, was that her sweet, idiotic, adorable partner, outed himself with Physics.

“Physics?” Marinette was in disbelief at the blonde’s words, her sandwich barely half eaten.

Chloé simply nodded. “Yup.” She leaned forward, having laid down on the bed, she propped her chin on her hands. “See, back before Adri started school, I would go over to his house and try and get him to do some of my homework for me, cause he’s crazy smart ya know?”

“I think only Max can surpass him in book smarts.” Marinette nodded.

“Well, he would never actually do anything for me. But he’d explain everything.” Chloé rolled her eyes. “Adrien has a very specific way he explains things, especially physics.” She leaned forward a little further. “So, when Ladybug instructed Chat Noir to watch over me after Nathaniel got akumatized I tried to get him to do my homework.”

“Oh my god.” Marinette mumbled through a mouth full of sandwich.

“And he started explaining in that special Adrien way. He even said, ‘You go this Chlo’ which is what he always said whenever I would get frustrated while he was helping me.”

“Physics.” The bluenette mumbled, after swallowing. “I always thought he’d out himself with a pun.”

“You okay?” Chloé’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, Marinette blinked a few times, smiling at the woman touching up her lipstick. The woman smiled back before leaving the platform.

“Fine.” Marinette huffed. “Just lost in thought.

“I know everything we talked about was a lot, sorry to dump it on you so suddenly.” Chloé looked down, eyes on her clasped hands.

“Honestly, it was probably for the best. If you hadn’t told me when you did I would have just been worrying about it all day long.” Marinette’s hand raised, landing on Chloé’s shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly. “But you do know that I’ve got to tell Adrien, or if you want to-”

“I think I’d prefer it if you did.” Marinette nodded.

“Alright girls!” The photographer clapped. “I want Artemis laying on that cloud, and Apollo on her stomach on that one!” He pointed as he spoke, both girls going where told, adjusting their bodies at the man’s command.

Marinette’s eyes ran over the room before focusing back on the camera. Damian still wasn’t in his outfit. It still hadn’t been fetched from Italy. Edna had mentioned Violet’s younger brother. The bluenette’s mind was filled with memories from her last visit to the Mode Building, when she’d first met Violet and a very eager eleven year old who would not stop aggressively hitting on her.

If who she thought was really going to collect this garment, she could only hope that he wouldn’t be let up onto the floor where the shoot was happening. Violet probably wouldn’t allow it. She’d collect it from him in the lobby or something and bring it up herself.

She’d just been dealing with so much today, she didn’t know if she could handle-

‘ ding ’

She really did have the most fantastic luck.

The elevator door slid open, a short muscular fourteen year old sauntering out with a black garment bag slung over his shoulder. A self satisfied smirk plastered across his chiseled jaw. His cheekbones hard and square, the bridge of his sloped nose splashed with light brown freckles. His blonde hair was swept back, resembling someone who’d just gone for a joy ride in a ferrari. He swaggered across the room, a free hand stuck deep into his khaki slacks. His clothing suggesting he’d just come from a private school of sorts.

“Have no fear!” He announced, holding up his free hand. “Your hero is here!” He pressed it to his chest, mumbling something along the lines of “hold the applause please.”

Violet came into the room from behind him, smacking him across the back of the head and snatching the bag out of his hand. “You’re late.”

“Ow!” He said very pointedly at her, so pointedly that Marinette doubted it actually hurt. “You said asap, well, I had a test.”

“Like you actually try in any math class.” She walked past him, taking the garment straight to the changing rooms, several other assistants flocked to her, checking the outfit for possible damages from transit.

The boy shot his sister a dirty look before turning his attention to Edna, the woman was standing in the middle of the room. “Dashiell!” She called, arms open wide.

“Edna!” He opened his own arms, but instead of hugging they high fived, resulting in a complicated handshake that reminded Marinette of her and her cousin’s own. “So good to see you!”

“I trust you had no trouble?” The woman asked.

“Not an ounce.” He smiled wide. “I assure you, I took this job as seriously as possible, I even went a longer root so that I would be on the water for the shortest time possible.” Marinette didn’t know Dash well, but she did know he was god awful at keeping his secret identity underwraps. She had never been more thankful for the fact that a specific person didn’t know she was a superhero.

“Who is that?” Chloé whispered harshly to her.

“Dash Parr.” Marinette said dryly, watching as Edna handed Dash a thick stack of American dollars. “Violet’s little brother.”

“So, we don’t like him?” The blonde asked.

“As promised, double the normal fee, in assorted bills.” Edna said, patting Dash’s hand once the money was in his grip.

“Happy I could be of assistance.”

“And if your parents ask?” The short woman’s eyebrow quirked up.

“As far as mom knows, I just wanted to see my lovely sister.” The boy’s grin turned into a smirk. “And as far as dad’s concerned, I ran across an ocean today in under three minutes.” Dash winked, the two girls, and several other workers, watched as Edna pulled a fifty dollar bill from her coat, placing it on top of Dash’s stack.

“Always a pleasure Dashiell.” She patted the boy’s cheek before turning back to the photographer.

Marinette was hopeful for a moment, finally responding to Chloé’s question. “It’s not necessarily that we don’t like him.” The boy turned, most likely to leave, but for a moment he faced Marinette and Chloé’s platform. His eyes locked on her. And suddenly he was walking towards them.

All hope was lost.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheg!” he called.

“Cheg?” Chloé whispered.

Marinette held back her grimace. “Hi Dash.” She bit out through clenched teeth.

“Well,” His eyes ran up and down her body and Marinette had never felt more icky in her entire life. “Don’t you just look awesome.”

Chloé’s eyes narrowed. “How old are you?” She whispered, watching as Dash hopped up on the platform. He was a few inches shorter than Marinette, meaning he was several inches shorter than Chloé.

“Fourteen gorgeous,” Dash winked at her and Chloé’s face twisted immediately.

“Oh god no.” She spat.

“How’ve you been Mar-Mar?” He asked, leaning against one of the clouds, he immediately began to flex.

“Mar-Mar?” Chloé asked, eyes narrowing. “What is happening?” She began looking around, trying to find someone to explain. Damian had been shoved into a changing room now that his garment was here, and Adrien was getting his makeup touched up for his and Damian’s shoot.

Chloé was curious as to what would happen when the boy noticed, but seeing as Gabriel was in attendance today, she thought it best not to draw his attention. When she turned her attention back to Marinette, the girl’s face had grown extremely pensive. The short blonde boy was bragging about how much he could bench press.

Chloé took a step closer to the girl, leaning close to whisper in her ear. “No, seriously,” She hissed. “Who is this kid?”

Marinette only shook her head. Both girls turning back to face Dash as he launched into a story about how the entire cheerleading team was currently arguing over who he’d be taking to prom. “Course I haven’t said yes to anyone yet.” He winked at Marinette again, this time Chloé was close enough to feel the girl shiver. “Incase a special little lady shows up intime.”

Chloé grabbed Marinette’s hand, unsure what else to do in the moment.

“DASH!” All three of them jumped at the noramly calm Violet’s angry shout. “Oh my god! Get off of there! We are in the middle of a shoot.” Violet reached up and grabbed Dash’s ear. She yanked him off the platform that surprised Chloé but didn’t seem to phase Marinette.

“Ow! Ow! OW! Violet!” The boy cried.

“No!” Violet began to march toward the elevators. “No! No! No! You need to leave now! You are disrupting the shoot! Demarcus!” a large black man suddenly appeared, he was dressed in a nice suit and was very obviously security. “Please escort Dash here out of the building, in fact, make sure he leaves the city.”

“Yes ma’am.” Demarcus took Dash’s arm. “If you’d come with me please sir.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Vi!”

“What?” Violet crossed her arms, face set in a glare.

“There are a bunch of robot pigeons that keep showing up at the house, and Mom is starting to get really frustrated cause JackJack keeps fighting them and-”

“Oh my god.” Violet slapped her forehead. “Okay, just please leave. I’ll talk to Hiro.” Violet turned away as the door closed on Dash and Damarcus. “Jesus christ I hate all of them.”

Chloé slowly turned to Marinette, releasing the girl’s hand. “No seriously,” She said. “What-who was that? What just happened?”

Marientte sighed, slumping against one of the clouds. “That was Dashiell Robert Parr.”

“I hated that.” Chloé said. “I never want to experience that again in my entire life.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” The bluenette crossed her arms. “He’s a lot.”

“He called you Mar-Mar Dupain-Cheg.” Chloé pointed out. “Like, what the hell? Cheg? Mar-Mar?” Chloé looked around, almost like she was trying to find proof of what she just experienced. “Did I dream that?”

“More like nightmared it.” Marinette commented.

Chloé stared at her wide eyed. “Mar-Mar.” Chloé said monotone. “And I thought Bugaboo was a stupid nickname.”

…

Adrien rolled his shoulders, trying to regain some sense of comfort now that he was strapped into the white silk tank top. Thick leather straps in brass and gold had been draped tastefully around his abdomen, then wrapped tightly around his bare arms, constricting his muscles to the point where it was hard to move. But he didn’t want to make the jobs of the two men working on sorting his outfit any more difficult than it had to be, so he stayed as still as possible.

“God she’s a genius.” He had heard something along those lines so many times in the past two days, he’d lost count. He had greatly underestimated just how much Edna Mode was worshiped by her followers. Not that he disagreed, or not a lot, but he definitely thought that for some of the designs he’d seen so far, Marinette could easily make a better version. His point only being proved by Marinette’s amazing redesign of her own outfit that very morning.

And she did that while not even functioning at a hundred percent.

It was pretty obvious to Adrien that his partner had been off all morning. Heck, he had been off all morning. He was hoping to talk to her over lunch, see if he couldn’t help her and maybe discuss some things that had been distressing him as well. But Chloé had dragged her off before Adrien could even get to her.

Now that was distressing.

The two girls showed back up to the shoot together an hour and a half later, looking thick as thieves. While the thought of his oldest friend and his best friend (best female friend as Nino was his best male friend and that was the only way he could sort them in good conscience because they both meant so much to him) finally getting along made him so happy, he would be lying if he said their time alone didn’t worry him.

One of the men wrapped a gaudy golden belt around his middle, it was thick and rested heavily against his hips, but he didn’t complain. “You really do look like an everyday adonis.” The other man commented.

“Thank you.” Adrien gave a polite smile as one of the men started adjusting the straps that fell over the belt. Soon four sets of hands were at work on the straps hanging off the slim dark brown pants he wore. A woman came over, fixing his quiffed hair to be a bit more messy. Edna had referred to the style as ‘sex hair’ but he preferred to think of it as a windswept look. Once the woman was done with his hair she moved on to his neck, placing a heavy golden collar around his throat, letting it rest against his shoulders. It reminded him of a cat collar.

Next to him stood Damian. The boy wore a black vest with silver accents, his arms wrapped in similar leather straps to Adrien’s, but his were colored silver and ice blue. He wore loose black slacks, silver leather straps hanging off the sides of his hips in hooped fashion, the straps having similar black details to the vest.

In terms of jewelry, Damian had a silver collar like Adiren’s gold one, but he did not have a belt like Adrien. Instead Damian’s wrists were clad in long gauntlet like silver bracelets. He also had a silver diadem placed on his forehead. A brilliant blue stone set in its center, it matched Marinette’s eyes well, and also matched the matte color Damian’s lips had been painted.

“You know, when Edna referred to these as strappy ensembles, I was kind of hoping she was kidding.” Adrien said, eyes moving back to focus on his reflection.

“Edna doesn’t kid, especially when it comes to her work.” Damian’s voice was monotone, his hands raised to push back the curls of his bangs.

“Seems like that runs in the family.” Adrien whispered, hoping Damian hadn’t heard him once the words left his mouth. “So…” God, this silence hurt.

“We don’t need to talk while this happens.” Damian said, eyes firm on his reflection, it looked like he was glaring at himself.

“Oh-o-okay.” Adrien looked down, as the woman who put the collar on him placed a golden diadem on his forehead. His stone was a much darker blue, possibly Lapis Lazuli but he wasn’t sure. All the knowledge he had in regards to gemstones came from Steven Universe.

“Couple of Princes the two of you.” The woman said, smiling at the boys. “No wonder Edna fought so hard for you.”

“She fought for him, I agreed rather seamlessly.” Damian corrected. “Am I done?” He looked over at her, eyes cold.

“Oh, um yes.”

“Good.” Damian walked away from the two, going to sit down on one of Edna’s platforms that’s only purpose, Adrien was roughly seventy-percent certain, was to make the woman taller. His boyfriend greeted him cheerfully, but seemed to be mainly preoccupied with Damian’s phone.

“Well isn’t he a ray of sunshine.” The woman commented, resting her hand on her hip as she cocked it out.

“No kidding.” Adrien whispered, eyes downcast. It didn’t necessarily bother him when people didn’t like him, he’d had fans and haters since day one of his career. But it was bothering him that someone so important to Marinette disliked him, or at least it seemed like Damian didn’t like him. Adrien could see Damian in the mirror, he was glaring at him.

It also didn’t help that he’d had a knot in his stomach since he found out Marinette’s plan that morning. Nino’s video only amplifying his pains. While he didn’t like Lila, and knew she needed to be stopped, he couldn’t help but think there was a better way to do it then publicly humiliate her in front of the whole school. She wasn’t a good person but she wasn’t down right evil, she deserved a little sympathy.

Or maybe Adrien was just too nice. Which was something Chloé had insisted that morning when he complained about not liking what was happening. Plagg had agreed with her when Adrien relayed the story to him. Saying that Adrien was far too forgiving for his own good, and insisting once again, that it was okay to be angry with someone. He knew that. He wasn’t a child. Nor was he as innocent and helpless as people around him seemed to think. He just didn’t like conflict.

He wished, once again, that he could have discussed these feelings with Marinette at lunch. He knew he would feel better once he talked things out with her, he always did. That is why he originally started visiting her as Chat Noir. Marinette, as herself or as his lady, she always made things better, made people feel better, made him feel better. He just needed a few minutes with her, to discuss what happened, explain why it caused him such unrest. He needed to hear her side. Needed to talk to her, or maybe just be in her close proximity again, after she dodge him all morning long.

Just a few minutes.

She was like a battery, super charging him whenever she was near.

Suddenly a large ornate golden bow was handed to the blonde boy. It was heavy in his hands, and he had to wonder amidst his marveling at the details, if this was a real weapon. Had someone just handed him, a sixteen year old boy, a real weapon?

He looked around, sure this must be a mistake, but instead of someone taking the thing away, he was taken by the arm. One of the men from earlier leading him to the platform, a forest scene. His stage for the next photoshoot. A photoshoot that involved weapons?

He saw someone handing Damian a silver bow identical to his golden one. Adrien couldn’t put his finger on why, but it made his stomach drop. Now Damian had a weapon, a real weapon. That couldn’t be a good idea. This couldn’t be right. There had to be a mistake of some kind, right?

Suddenly he was on the platform. Damian facing him across the fake grass. His eyes still set in a galre. Adrien gulped. He had an awful feeling.

“Okay!” The photographer shouted. “So I want these photos to have a bit more aggression to them. You boys think you can give me that aggressive vibe?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe.”

Damian’s quick answer only made the blonde boy even more nervous.

“Good!” The bald man clapped his hands. “Someone give them their arrows.”

Arrows!?

…

Damian couldn’t help the smirk that stretched across his features as he placed his arrow against the bow’s string. It felt good, natural. You never forget, it’s like riding a bike. Weapons always made him feel so comfortable. He knew how to deal with weapons, unlike people.

His cousin was in distress, and now she was avoiding him. She was upset because of Adrien Agreste. He upset her and she was still worried about him, it was obvious. She was worried Damian would do something, which he wouldn’t of course. But he wanted to. He wanted to do something to make her feel better.

“Wouldn’t piercing that pretty face with an arrow make her feel better?” Something wicked whispered in his ear. The voice was icky and made his skin crawl, evil. It sounded like his grandfather, but at the same time like his mother.

Hurting Adrien wouldn’t make her feel better, just Damian.

He pulled the drawstring back, stopping when it grazed the corner of his lips. The photographer told them to do it, but Adrien wasn’t doing it quite right. Someone had to get up on the platform and help him, show him how to position it correctly.

He reminded Damian of a baby deer, fumbling on new legs.

“Easy Pray.” The voice whispered.

It was like riding a bike. His senses were always on fire, acutely aware of how to take down everyone around him. Even with all the training, all the philosophies his father had spent years shoveling into his head, his inner assassin never slept. His beast was always awake, waiting for a week spot in Damian’s defenses, waiting to break out and cause havoc.

Damian barely registered the flashes of the camera.

He was so angry, the longer he stared at Adrien’s face. The blonde’s glare was fake, he knew that. The boy didn’t seem like he had it in him to hate. Damian had too much capacity for hate, or so people told him.

Damian’s glare was real.

He had a large capacity for hate, currently that hate was mostly directed towards Adrien. Marinette trusted too easily, she trusted her heart to people too easily. Why would she pick someone to love who could hurt her so easily?

More flashes, he registered these even less.

They were told to walk forward a few paces, they both did. Adrien had to have that same assistant come and help him reposition his bow. How was he a hero? How was Paris not destroyed? How was his cousin still alive with a partner who was so useless, with a partner who so carelessly hurt her.

“He hurt her.”

Did he care that he hurt her? Damian hadn’t seen the two of them speak since Adrien left them that morning. Adrien was avoiding Marinette, that was the only explanation. Of course, he was hurting her and he knew it.

“He wants her to hurt.”

Damian was so angry.

...

“Now some without the bows!” Edna had clapped, clapping while giving orders, it was something she had always done. But Damian had lost focus on the world around him, he was just so angry. He’d lost focus. The noise startled him.

He hadn’t meant to.

He didn’t mean to.

His eyes widened as a scream filled the room. It was his cousin, he knew that. She screamed. Marinette screamed and then his arrow sunk deep into the fake bark of a prop tree. He’d missed Adrien by a millimeter, he was sure there was a cut on the blonde’s cheek. It wouldn’t be more than a hair's breadth. But it would be there.

Edna would know it.

Marinette would know it.

Damian knew it.

He wasn’t trained to miss. He always hit his target. Not always lethally, but he always hit them. He had just been so angry. He was startled. He hadn’t meant to. He really hadn’t. It was an accident, he was startled.

“Damian!”

“Oh my god!”

“Adrien!”

Suddenly Marinette and Chloé were on the platform. The girls flanking the blonde’s sides. For his worth, Adrien hadn’t moved. It was like the arrow hadn’t even phased him. All he had done was lower his weapon.

Enda was at Damian’s side. He hadn’t lowered the bow yet. She ripped it from his hands. She was yelling at him but he wasn’t quite registering it yet. He had been startled and his hand slipped.

Marinette’s eyes hurt.

His eyes had the power to cut people, cut them down, crush their strength, strike fear. Her eyes had the power to hurt, to cause hearts to break. He felt that hurt, felt his chest ache as she stared at him, eyes narrowed, frown set.

Adrien had hurt her.

Damian had hurt him.

Had Damian hurt her?

“Damian what the hell was that!” He was hit by the bow, his head ached now along with his heart. Edna was still at his side, she was fuming.

“I-” He didn’t know what to say, honestly. He hadn't meant to. His fingers slipped, he was startled and it made him release. It was an accident. “I don’t know.” He whispered.

“You don’t know?!” Edna shouted. “You shot at him!”

“I’m fine Ms. Mod-Enda. Really, I am.” Adrien raised his hands, why was he trying to help? Damian had just shot at him.

“Adrien you’re hurt.” Marinette’s fingers traced the cut, the boy flinched barely. Tender flesh. Damian knew she’d be able to see it.

“It’s just a cut.” The blonde whispered.

“Edna that psychopath just shot an arrow at my son!” Gabriel Agreste’s voice cut through the crowd. Now the asshole cared? Damian couldn’t help the thought.

“Why are these real arrows?” Chloé asked, getting Marinette’s attention. “Shouldn’t they just be props?”

“Did you seriously give him a real weapon?” Marinette’s words were quieter, but Damian caught them. He was dangerous with weapons, everyone in his family knew that. They feared him when he was armed.

“Edna.” Gabriel pulled the woman a way.

Damian had to wonder if he would be getting sent home. They were only two days into the shoot. His father wasn’t here to defend him. Would Father defend him? Edna could easily replace him, eat into a few safety days to reshoot. Maybe it was for the best? If a Justice League emergency was brewing they might need him.

They wouldn’t ask him to leave, he would ask to be dismissed. It was only right after all. He caused such an incident. He should leave. They would want him to.

Damian stepped down from the platform. He felt an odd sort of emptiness, not even necessarily regret. Just nothingness. He was used to that feeling, it was much safer than anything remotely close to an emotion.

Suddenly he was grabbed by the arm and pulled off to a secluded corner. He hadn’t even registered the person until they were yelling at him in harsh whispers.

“Damian what the fuck was that?!” Oh, it was his boyfriend.

The dark skinned boy blinked a few times, probably more times than necessary, but he still wasn’t quite back yet. Still wasn’t quite sure what had happened. His eyes focused on Colin. He was angry, it was obvious, he was disappointed.

With focus came his emotions, back and at full force.

They hurt like a bitch.

Marientte was upset with him, he hurt her. Edna was upset with him, she was angry with him. Colin was disappointed with him. Colin was disappointed in him. “I-I’m I don’t-” Damian tried to figure out his words but everything wasn’t quite back yet, not back in focus.

“Damian you just shot that kid with a freaking arrow!” The redhead growled. “Why? Why did you do that? What the hell was that!”

“I-don’t know.” He finally managed. God, now he was the baby deer wasn’t he?

“You don’t know?” Colin hissed. “Damian you almost killed him!”

“It was just a scratch.” Defensive. He was defending himself, his actions, that’s right. Because he’d messed up, he’d slipped up. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t mean to?” Colin asked, eyes scrutinizing. “Damian you aimed, you shot, you hit him.” His jaw was set. “Why? Why did you do that? What the hell Damian!”

He’d only used his full name this whole time. No nicknames, no shortening it, no pet names. It was strange, but that hurt more than Marinette’s eyes.

“I don’t know.” Damian choked. “I don’t-I didn’t mean to. Enda startled me and I just let go-my finger slipped I didn’t mean to.” He was drowning, that’s what it felt like. Colin was so angry at him. He had never seen Colin angry at him quite like this. Though, typically, when Damian hurt people, far past the point that he should have, it was a very bad man. Sometimes Colin even helped him.

“I didn’t mean to.” Damian whispered, eyes falling to the floor.

He should apologize, shouldn’t he? Yes, say he was sorry for hurting the model. He should apologize to Colin and Marinette and Enda. So they wouldn’t be hurt or angry or disappointed any more. But the problem with him wanting to apologize was that he could never get the words out.

Colin sighed, turning away from Damian. His head shook as he began walking away. He was still angry and hurt and disappointed. And Damian still couldn’t breath or focus right. He was in trouble, his father would be upset. Everyone was upset.

He headed for the changing rooms as quickly as possible. He needed to be out of this environment. He needed to be somewhere else.

He needed to breath.

…

Well, today was just going swimmingly.

First Damian got woken up and torn away from his warm and cuddly boyfriend. Then that distressing video. Then his cousin, who was obviously upset, wouldn’t talk to him. Then Colin stole his phone and got a brand new best friend in the form of some random french girl. Then he tried to defend his cousin’s honor, but instead got yelled at by his boyfriend and aunt and by Gabriel Agreste. And his cousin, his cousin looked so upset with him. Colin wasn’t talk to him either. He was being ignored and possibly suffered a panic attack in the changing room, but wasn’t quite sure. He’d never been good at diagnosing his own symptoms, just the symptoms of others.

And now Damian was alone, going back to his room to take Titus for a walk. He needed to blow off steam. Today had been awful. He needed to move around, be angry and sad and mostly alone, but walking Titus would help, it had to help.

The elevator opened and he began walking down the hall, but stopped when he noticed a figure in the small lobby area. The tall muscular boy leaning against the window, all his focus directed towards something outside. Damian recognized him immediately as Jon Kent.

That was the other thing.

What the hell was going on with the Justice League and the two boys’ fathers.

“You okay Kent?” The boy didn’t turn around at his name. He didn’t even respond. That wasn’t good.

Damian took several steps forward, slowly. He reached out and placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder, the boy didn’t move a muscle. “Jon?” Damian asked, voice a little softer. “Are you alright?”

“Trisha Bailey was killed last night.” His voice was emotionless, and Damian took note that the boy wasn’t wearing his glasses. “It was a hit and run.”

“Trisha Bailey?” The name sounded very familiar but it took Damian a moment to place it, when he did, his stomach dropped. “No.”

“Lex Luthor was released from prison this morning.” Jon’s face grew angrier. “No witness, no crime. Or whatever.” He spat. “Forget the fact that man had mercenaries hired to kill my mother. Forget that he planted bombs to killer. Snipers following her. Hitmen. All so she wouldn’t write a damn article.” His fists clenched against the glass window.

“Jon calm down.” Damian increased the pressure of his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Lex-” The boy’s Jaw clenched. “Lex Jr. stopped returning Conor’s calls. He also left the country late last night.” Jon’s eyes narrowed. “They can’t figure out where he went but they’re trying to track him, unsuccessfully I might add.” Jon turned away from the window and Damian. “God we were so stupid! Conor trusted him!” He banged his fist against the wall, a small dent forming.

“Jon.” Damian’s voice was a tad sterner. “You need to calm down before you break something you can’t fix.”

“What if he comes after my mom again Damian?” The boy turned around, tears in his eyes. “What if he comes after me or Conor or my dad? Kara? Grandma! He could come after any of us!”

“We won’t let him hurt any of you!” Damian tried to assure.

“What about Lena Luthor!?”

Lena Luthor? Damian didn’t know a hefty amount about her, just what was outlined in her file. She was the younger sister of Lex Luthor Senior. Slightly less evil, known for having a conscience, and eventually turned against him. She was in JLA witness protection, had been for eighteen years now.

“What about Lena?” Damian asked.

“They can’t find her Damian.” Jon let out an angry breath, resting his back against the window. “Mr. Queen went to Rome yesterday, that’s where she’s supposed to be. But he can’t find her. People are searching the whole continent of Europe. No one can find her.”

“Okay,” Damian looked to the ground trying to think. “That’s not great but her brother may not know where she is either.”

“Be real Damian.” Jon looked up at him. “I may not be smart, but I’m not dumb. And you aren’t stupid enough to believe that Jr. isn’t cozying up to his aunt right now.” His fist clenched again, Damian could see it smashing into the glass, but thankfully Jon seemed to still have some semblance of control.

“Damian the Luthors have enough kryptonite stock piled away to fuel two nuclear bombs.” The boy’s eyes suddenly looked so empty. “Lena Luthor was the only thing we had on him, along with Trisha. Now we don’t have either, and my family is his number one target.”

“Yeah well, I hate to break this to you but Batman had double that amount of kryptonite.” It was meant as a joke, but as anyone who knew him knew, Damian was bad at those. “Luthor, Luthor isn’t going to be able to pull shit. I’m sure the whole League is working on this as we speak.”

Damian walked in front of his friend, he wasn’t a hugger. Typically he wasn’t one for prolonged contact at all, save for a handful of very specific circumstances, like a warm cuddly sleeping boyfriend. But this was his friend, his perky, never not happy friend who, no matter what, was always there for him.

It was easier than he was expecting to pull the half-kryptonian into a tight hug. “We will figure this out.” Damian whispered. “I swear Jon, I won’t let him hurt you or your family. If there’s one thing that scares the shit out of Luthors, it’s Waynes.” Jon was fully crying now, but Damian could swear he heard something along the lines of a small chuckle escape the boy’s mouth.

“I just don’t know what to do Damian.” Jon’s arms were suddenly around him, tightly hugging him back. “M-my mom, she’s staying with Dinah while Mr. Queen is in Europe. Damian I’m scared.”

“I know.” Damian wasn’t good at this, comforting wasn’t what he was good at. He was good at getting even, at defending people he cared about, at pissing people off and arguing his point. “Do you remember that ridiculous thing you always tell me?”

“N-no.” He sniffled.

“Good always triumphs over evil, right?”

The Kansan let out a stronger laugh. “Right.” He was still crying, but he was still laughing too. “Good always wins.”

“Well we’re good. And they’re evil.” Damian hugged his friend a little tighter. “So that means that everything is going to be fine. Jon I promise.” Even as Damian said the words he couldn’t help the thought that crossed his mind. “Everything will be fine.” Famous last words.

_______________________________________________________________________

(part 1) (part 2) (part 2.5) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11) (part 12) - Here (part 13)

Photoshoot Part 4! Y'all I don't know what happened. I sat down to study for finals last night and instead turned on Hamilton and cranked this mess out. Anyway, Dash is finally here and I love him. But he’s also the worst, hence why he isn’t a prominent Character in this fic, but who knows, maybe he’ll show back up at some point. So a lot of what I was excited for at the end of part 11 actually isn't’ in this. It started getting really long so I had to chop it in half. Hopefully part 13 will come just as quickly as this part did. And hopefully I can actually get some studying done before my test tomorrow. I hope you all enjoyed this part as much as I did writing it! Please leave comments! I love reading everyone's thoughts on the chapters, they always make me smile. Like comments, I have discovered, can change my whole outlook on a day. And I could seriously use some positivity heading into my finals! As always if you have any questions about the story or AU feel free to ask, I love getting them and will happily answer any question you got (even if it’s not about this AU)! And if you want to be tagged let me know!

Also for future reference in this fic, the version of Lena Luthor that I am using for my writing is the character Tess Mercer from Smallville.

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