#not about miraculous though strangely we shared the same opinions about miraculous

[italofobia]

maybe my artstyle really is too similar to the owl house's artstyle. ok *freaks out about it*

#THIS IS ALL DEKU GIRLS FAULT im so glad she transferred to med school because everytime i think about her i only get self conscious about #my artstyle OR get pissed at her stupid opinions. #not about miraculous though strangely we shared the same opinions about miraculous #but yeah i was just thinking that if there was a cartoon and it had my artstyle i would NOT watch it. #it's like. it's kinda like she ra or high guardian spice where you can tell its derivative and does nothing particularly well????? #idk im mad. brb im going to look at hazshit hotel so i can feel better about my art

[drwcn]

discordance!verse part 8 (1/2):  Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan sit down to discuss damage control. 

in which wwx is lxc’s husband through political alliance, and there is an affair.

[7] | [6] | [5] | [4] | [3] | [2] | [1] [synopsis]  OR see [discordance navigation page] for all installments 

following part 3

When he was a child, the townsfolks of Lotus Pier used to tell tales of the eighteen levels of 地狱 (hell), and that when bad people died, the little demons of the underworld would drag their souls to the lowest pit and throw them into a vat of boiling oil. Jiang Cheng used to scoff and call these stories stupid, but even so, he would shrink back against his da-shixiong and cling just a little tighter onto the back of Wei Wuxian's uniform. Wei Wuxian used to laugh, pat Jiang Cheng on the shoulder and say, "Aiyo A-Cheng, like you said, it's just a stupid story. And besides, only bad people go to hell. We're not bad, so we don't have to worry about it!"

This is a rule unanimously accepted that good people are allowed to reincarnate and bad people are sent to hell to suffer, bad people like murderers and rapists, and kidnappers and adulterers - Adulterers.

If hell is a vat of boiling oil, then maybe the stories are true after all, because for seven days, Wei Wuxian burns.

For seven days, he exists in a place that is neither here nor there. He is disembodied, suspended, and unable to move or speak or see.  

There are flames dancing on his skin and a fire raging from his core through his bones. He cannot scream; he cannot run. He can neither feel nor move his limbs, or know if indeed he still has them. Each breath he takes is liquid heat flooding his lungs. His entire world is airless and yet somehow heavy like lead, suffocating him and crushing him into himself. There is no up no down, no north or south or time or space, only the never ending moment of the unrelenting pain.   Even so, in the back of his mind, where the little boy Wei Ying who grew up listening to the old wives' tales hides, he knows that he deserves every minute of this. His actions have ruined himself, ruined Lan Zhan, and if news of this gets out, he would've brought shame upon all of Yunmeng Jiang. Their First Disciple, Jiang Fengmian's treasured ward whom he favoured better than his own son, turns to be nothing more than a - how did that one disciple put it, as yes - faithless whore.

Wei Wuxian knows that he is not dead. He knows this because though he cannot speak and cannot hide, he can still hear the words of those around him: the disciples guarding his room, the healers changing his bandages, and the elders that come to check on him once a day.

I liked Wei-jun, he's nice to the juniors and outer disciples, but how could he do such a thing to Zewu-jun! -

He's ruined our Er-gongzi, you know it's true -

- loud, brash, annoying. He's not a Lan and he'll never be a Lan - Poor Zewu-jun -

I would have expected better of Lan Wangji.

Humiliated our Sect Master -

If they hadn't caught him with Hanguang-jun, I'd eat my ribbon before I believe something like this -

Betrayed him -

Used Hanguang-jun -

What does Er-gongzi even see in him?

Is it really so hard to imagine? They are both young. The young are often reckless and sentimental.

This can't be Wangji's fault.

It's not Lan Zhan's fault. How could it be? How could any of this be Lan Zhan's fault when all he's ever tried to do is shield Wei Wuxian, to be his friend, his confidant, his shoulder to lean on when he had no one to turn to in Cloud Recesses.

Wei Wuxian knows that to the outside world, he has already been granted more than he should have. A son of a servant married high above his station to the esteemed Zewu-jun, the leading cultivator of their generation, handsome, kind and the best of men. Even in death, Lan Xichen had found a way to miraculously return to him. What more could Wei Wuxian possibly want? How shameless, how greedy is he to want anything - anyone - else? 

And how dare he think that someone like him deserves someone as good as Lan Zhan?

Wei Ying…

Wei Wuxian knows he doesn't deserve Lan Zhan, but he remembers every touch, every smile, every memory, bad, good, or bittersweet. He remembers Lan Zhan's hands, warm and firm around his own, under the table where they sat side by side dredging through tedious paper work, burning the midnight oil. He remembers Bichen glistening under the sun, clashing with Suibian as they duelled in the training ground for the juniors to observe. He remembers the soft gasp that escaped those lips the first he let Lan Zhan undress him in the dark. He remembers, and remembers and remembers, and he doesn't regret. Even if it's wrong, even if it's a crime, Wei Wuxian cannot regret Lan Wangji. Not at all. Not one second of it.

Perhaps he always knew that it couldn't last. Nothing gold ever stayed. Perhaps he always knew this day was coming, but even if he could go back and redo everything, he would choose the same and fall again, and again, and again. Lan Zhan loves him, trusts him, and has given himself to him, and he will not sully Lan Zhan's faith with the ugliness of doubt.

If only he could protect Lan Zhan the way Lan Zhan has always protected him…

The pain of the lashes he can endure, but the guilt of knowing an association with him has possibly tainted Lan Zhan for the rest of his life no pain can compare.

For that, he might've cried, but he's not sure. The fire burns it all away.

On the eighth morning after the discovery of the affair, Wei Wuxian awakens from a dreamless sleep, emerging from the vapours of the fire that has mercifully dwindled. Slowly his eyes open, bringing into sight a ceiling he does not recognize.

A cool cloth is pressed against his neck. He savours the small respite, blinking several times to clear the fog from his eyes. At some point, the Lans must've removed him from hanshi where Lan Xichen initially brought him. Missing from his view is the pale tulle canopy that drapes over the bed he shares with Lan Xichen. The bed beneath him is hard too, more akin to the bed he had as a guest disciple than accommodations befitting either of the Jades.

"A-Xian…"

The cool cloth is replaced with the back of a gentle hand laying against his forehead.

Shijie…?

"Shi-shijie?" His voice croaks, hoarse from disuse. His entire mouth is desert-dry and tastes like death warmed over. How could his sister be here?! Gusu Lan actually allowed her to visit him?! Wei Wuxian has so many questions. He tries to sit up, but pain explodes across his body with even the slightest movement. Swallowing an agonized cry, he collapses back down.

"Don't get up, A-Xian. You've been running a fever for days."

Jiang Yanli's presence brings him a margin of peace and comfort, though he has questions she won't answer. Instead, she washes his face and brushes out his hair and does not say word throughout. Worry draws in her brows tightly, and the tension in her body is palpable.

When she is satisfied with the amount of lotus and pork bone soup she's managed to spoon feed into him, Jiang Yanli holds his hand and tells him that Madam Yu and Yunmeng Jiang's elders have arrived.

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

The situation as it stands is abysmal, Lan Zonghui knows. The public nature of the affair is such that both families are scrambling to save face.

The nine Jiang Elders, dressed in dark maroon, navy and Yunmeng violet, sit opposing them on one side of the room. On their own side, the nine most prominent Lan Elders stare stoically at their counterparts. It would have been poor manners - not to mention cramped - to invite all thirty-three of them to the "emergency family meeting". Nine is more than enough to represent Cloud Recesses, and however the discussion goes, trust is placed upon the nine to come to an arrangement that satisfies the needs and dignity of both families.

…Not that there's much dignity left to salvage. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's sordid affair is a thing of public knowledge by now.

At the front of the room, Lan Qiren and Yu Ziyuan match each other grimace for grimace, both of equal displeasure. Lan Zonghui isn't sure whether he should be glad or upset that Jiang Fengmian has not deigned it his responsibility to show up in person, instead dispatching his lady to do the dirty work of negotiating for him.

Whether Jiang Fengmian is truly so distraught by his favourite ward's misconduct that he truly took ill or it's just another excuse to avoid facing the inevitable is inconsequential now. Yu Ziyuan - the Violet Spider - is the one they must content with, and though she is not known to favour Wei Wuxian, Madam Yu is quick-tempered, stubborn, and protective of Lotus Pier to a fault.

Whatever she lacks in care for Wei Wuxian personally, she makes up for in her pride for her clan and family.

The Lans opt to comment nothing of Jiang Fengmian's lack of attendance. On their part, Lan Xichen is equally absent. As he is the "offended" party, his presence ought to have been the most needed, but the Elders collectively decided that Xichen's behaviour in the past week has been stranger than strange. Not only was he not upset, but he seemed to have known about it all along and has been passively supporting the development of Wangji and Wei Wuxian's relationship.

Xichen is of the loud opinion that he and Wei Wuxian should be granted an amicable separation and that Wangji should be allowed to marry his divorcé in his stead. If his intent is giving at least one of the Elders a stroke, then he's come pretty damn close.

We've never consummated our marriage. Wangji and A-Xian betrayed the trust of no one. They care for each other dearly and I don't see why they shouldn't be allowed to marry.

What utter nonsense! Where on earth are the youngsters getting such wickedly inappropriate ideas??!

Xichen, he is your lawfully wedded husband, not some whore you picked up off the side of the road that you can easily gift to another!!

Those were angry careless words, not meant to be taken literally, but Xichen had visibly stiffened, the colour draining from his face.

You've bowed before Heaven and Earth, in front of Clan Elders and honoured guests. Even the disciples whisper about you and Wei Wuxian's …encounter in the Cold Pond. We've elected to overlook such an infraction, but now you dare to claim that you two are - are - Who's going to believe you?!

Perhaps, ponders Lan Zonghui, Gusu Lans are not made for love. Each time love finds one of them, it brings with it equal parts tragedy and despair.

Xichen and Wangi are both demonstrating unprecedented impertinence, qualities Lan Zonghui did not think were part of their characters, despite bearing witness to their growth.

Though…this wouldn't be the first time he misjudged a boy he thought he knew.

Wangji's fierceness when he pointed the Nie saber at his family, and Xichen's cold nonchalance towards his Elders' admonishments - it all reminds Zonghui too well of another young Sect Master Lan, twenty something years ago.

"Baiti and I have married. She is my fa'qi*, the woman I will love, cherish and honour for the rest of my life. If anyone in this sect seeks to harm her in any way, they will have to go through me first!"

Lan Cenrong had stood in this very hall, holding the hands of his bride, a woman of immeasurable depth and lethality. Bichen clutched in one hand, she had no explanation to offer in response to the Elders' outrage. Her face was sculpted in stone, and her eyes as cold as ice. The only detail that gave her away was the fingers she laced tightly between her husband's, anchoring him to her side.

Why do you stay?

Once, Lan Zonghui had gone to confront her after the birth of Lan Xichen, supposedly premature but suspiciously well formed and strong.

Can't you see you've won?! No one in this sect would draw their sword against you now. You've murdered one of our own and yet there is nothing we can do in retaliation! Do you really hate Cenrong so much that you would continue to torture him with your existence?! You can leave, we can arrange for you to disappear. You can be free. Just leave Cloud Recesses and return us our peace!

Qiu Baiti was perhaps the most unflappable person he's ever come across.

Lan Zonghui, isn't it? Brave, coming here by yourself.

Rising from her seat, she sauntered slowly towards him. The fingers of her left hand flexed, each knuckle cracking threateningly. She was a beast, and jingshi was her self-chosen cage. Zonghui was not stupid enough to think it could contain her. Even with Bichen confiscated, Qiu Baiti was deadly and terrifying enough for him to take half a step back.

Leave Cloud Recesses you say? Why would I do that? My husband is here, my son is here. This is my home. You don't know me, and you don't know Cenrong half as well as you think. Now leave, you're in my house, and you're starting to irritate me.

After that, the only people who dared to visit her was Cangse Sanren and the small group of female disciples who took care of her living.

Truth be told, it was a relief for their sect when Qiu Baiti died young.

Lan Zonghui refuses to believe even to this day that the murderess felt anything close to genuine affection for the late sect master. Mercifully, her sons were raised mostly without her corruption, though Cenrong had all but ordered Qiren to take them to see her at least once a month. If only the boys knew what kind of a woman she really was. In their minds, she was a gentle, kind soul, but nothing could possibly be further from the truth. Sometimes it frightens the Elders to think that her blood flows in their veins.

On that front, Lan Zonghui must commend Lan Qiren. As uncle, guardian and deputy sect master before Xichen came of age, Lan Qiren had done all he can to curb the influence of the pair of wayward parents on Xichen and Wangji's young impressionable minds. Nonetheless, here they are, twenty years down the road, caught in an another predicament because of foolish sentiments.    

Wangji has their mother's eyes, Xichen their mother's smile, but both of them are without a doubt their father's sons.  

Lan Zonghui resists the urge pinch his nose bridge. He can feel a migraine coming on.

I really am too old for this.

Given his impropriety, Xichen is barred from attending today's conference. He's proven that his priority is no longer aligned with that of his elders or his clan. They already have to deal with Yu Ziyuan's temper today; they could not fend against one of their one throwing them under the carriage.

"Let's not mince words," Yu Ziyuan begins. "You've invited us here, surely you've given this matter some thought. We Jiangs are reasonable people. We are not here to deny anything or to cause trouble, but let me be understood: if your intention is to xiu'fu, I'm afraid we cannot accept that."

Yu Ziyuan is a smart woman. If she allows Gusu Lan to 'xiu' Wei Wuxian then it would be seen to the world as Yunmeng Jiang taking responsibility for this scandal and for Wei Wuxian's shameful behaviour.

One Lan Elder harrumphs.

"He's betrayed his marriage and shared carnal pleasures with another, is that not justification enough for divorce? Not to mention his husband is the Sect Master of Gusu Lan. With all due respect, Madam Yu, the scandal Wei Wuxian has brought to the Lan family is also unacceptable to us."

Indignant, a Jiang Elder counters heatedly, "Yes, you are in fact correct. To lie with another when one's spouse is present is against principles of any good man, but as the old saying goes, you cannot clap with one hand. Gusu's Lan-er-gongzi, Sect Master Lan's own little brother, is a willing and equal participant, is he not? So why then must Wei Wuxian bear the entirety of the blame?"

"Well, Wangji must've been seduced!"

"Does the esteemed Hanguang-jun lack so much sense, self-control, and respect for Zewu-jun that he could be so easily seduced by his own brother in law?! Perhaps he is not befitting his title after all?"

To that the Lan Elders have nothing further to say. They grumble amongst themselves but could not deny the point the Jiangs have raised.

Lan Zonghui glances towards Lan Qiren and sees him meet Yu Ziyuan's sharp gaze across the room. They both know very well that these arguments are pointless. Both families wish for the same thing: to save as much face as possible and to emerge from this storm with their dignity relatively in tact.

To say their predicament is difficult would be an understatement. If Gusu Lan succeeds in pushing for a divorce, then all of Yunmeng Jiang would be implicated by Wei Wuxian's disgrace. However, if Gusu Lan continues to retain Wei Wuxian as husband of their Sect Master, they would be ridiculed by the cultivation world, and Lan Xichen a cuckhold fool.

Somebody has to bear the blame, and the verdict needs to be dealt fairly without prejudice nor bias.

Lan Qiren turns his gaze to the tea leaves in his cup. Yu Ziyuan mirrors his action.

Lan Zonghui sighs. There is only one way out. They know it, and so does he.

After the grumbles of discontent settle down, Madam Yu speaks again, this time more diplomatically. "It is not our intention to put our noses where it doesn't belong, but the dissolution of this marriage cannot be solely on the accounts of Wei Wuxian's adultery since the other party involved is Gusu's own Hanguang-jun.

"Given that Wei Wuxian has married into Lan family, he is one of you. What you do with him, is up to his husband and the Elders. As long as he remains Zewu-jun's legal spouse, with his name recorded in your pedigrees and an honoured spot allotted for him in your catacombs, we Yunmeng Jiangs shall not interfere with your internal business.

"True, he was our disciple and raised at my side. As his maternal presence, I admit I was lacking, but perhaps the Lan Sect can also reflect on some of your own shortcomings. I trust, Lan-xiansheng," she addressed Lan Qiren directly, "that you and the Elders will give both of our families a satisfactory response."

Lan Zonghui shares a genuine look of surprise with Lan Qiren. Surely she is not implying…?

Of course, the Elders had discussed that particular solution amongst themselves, seeing that it is the best method to save both sides, but they did not think the Jiangs would actually agree to it, especially given how close Wei Wuxian is with the ruling family. Though… from Jiang Fengmian's absence perhaps that is already telltale sign. Not to mention if the rumours of Cangse Sanren and Sect Master Jiang are true, then Yu Ziyuan would have her own personal reasons for…

"I hope, Elders, that we understand each other." Madam Yu frowns, her patience wearing thin. "Our clans have enjoyed generations of friendship, and a bigger trial is waiting for us in Lanling. That is more important to the stability and safety of our people than any romantic sentiments."

The reminder of Lanling awakens all parties present from their narrow point of view. Jin Guangshan's secret gathering of Yin Iron is undeniable. The evidence stacks against him and his ousting is nigh. Even his own son and heir has turned against him. Lan Zonghui has no doubt that Jin Zixuan's change of heart has been largely thanks to the influence and persuasion of his wife, whose mother sits before them now. The women of Lotus Pier are not to be underestimated.  

"Madam Yu," Lan Qiren raises his cup of tea in a respectful toast. "We understand and thank you for your sensibility. If you are certain, then we have no objections."

Yu Ziyuan's resolve does not waver. "I am, so let us discuss the details."  

 [2/2 tbc]

Notes:

fa’qi 发妻 - fa = hair, qi = wife. this comes from the saying 结发为妻(夫), which means to bind our hair together as husband & wife. couples will cut a piece of their hair and tie it together with a red string and put it away as a symbol of their unity/marriage. 

#cql #the untamed #discau #discordance #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #corie fics

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

A Familiar Soul - Chapter Three

Summary: Hilda decides to be completely honest with her mother, surprised when she seems to be a lot more in on magic than Hilda had expected her to be.

With her daughter’s association with witches, Johanna is forced to face some secrets of her own, bringing her back to feelings and people she’d rather have left behind

Dealing with insecurities and inner demons of her own, Kaisa finds herself face to face with the very issues that brought her to be so displeased with her own abilities

Or: the one where Johanna is Kaisa’s familiar

Notes: I tried my best not to make Johanna’s parents downright abusive again but... that whole “this isn’t the sort of mum I wanted to be” breakdown Johanna had in The Fifty Year Night wasn’t something someone who grew up with good parents would do, I think. Hope you enjoy it!

Read it on ao3: (chpt1) (chpt2) (chpt3)

“Yep, this is certainly magical business just like you suspected, Frida. You can close your mouth now.”

At the librarian’s command, David closed his mouth and swallowed, feeling the bitter taste that arose every time he did so. He had been with his friends in the woods for a leaf identifying Sparrow Scout activity when he ate a berry that had evoked the most bizarre reaction from his body. Purple bubbles the same colour as the berry had sprouted on his tongue and made it feel like a dead slug inside his mouth, and as soon as the girls had taken a look at it they’d decided to go ask Kaisa what her opinion on the matter was.

“Am I going to die?” He whispered fearfully. David knew he could trust magic when it came from Frida, but aside from that his experience with it so far had been less than pleasant. Kaisa blew raspberry and swept a hand on the air, as if to brush his concerns away.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

The librarian turned her back to them and continued calmly typing on her computer behind the circulation desk, like she’d been doing when they arrived. Judging by the books on the counter, they assumed she was taking note of which tomes had been returned that day.

“Well?” Hilda shared a look with Frida as she asked. “What happened to him?”

The way Kaisa looked back at them and then to the side was uncharacteristic. She seemed to be battling with herself about whether or not she should answer them, which only made David worry that he was, indeed, going to die.

“He ate the berries of a bush protected by the fae people.” She explained at last, looking not at them but at the computer screen. “Terrible idea.”

“And how do we undo it?” Hilda stepped closer to the counter. The librarian placed her hand on top of one of the books, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Though she might not like Johanna, Kaisa wanted to respect her wishes as Hilda’s mother, and giving them what they needed very much went against them. It was the way Hilda was looking at her, with wide and hopeful eyes, that made her throw caution to the wind and give her the book. If the girl’s first reaction to disaster was looking for some random witch and not her mother, that was on Johanna.

“The potion is on page 63. It’s simple to brew, Frida shouldn’t have any trouble. Oh, and just for good measure, go back to the bush and place an offering on the ground for the faeries. They’ll enjoy anything sweet or shiny, as long as it’s not iron.”

“Thanks, Kaisa!” Hilda smiled up at her as she handed Frida the potions book. “You’re the best!”

The trio ran out of the library together, hoping to get started on their tasks as soon as possible. Until the doors closed behind them, Kaisa could hear Hilda talking about how she could handle the offering while her witch brewed the potion. She sighed and allowed herself to fall back against her chair, her head on her hands as she breathed deep.

The girl was too much like her mother.

_#_#_#_

It had been an extremely risky move on her part, but Johanna arrived safely on the ground. The palms of her hands were stinging from gripping her makeshift rope so tightly, and she looked up at the string of clothes she’d tied together in order to allow herself out of her room on the second floor of her house. As soon as her feet touched the earth, her best friend sighed in relief behind her.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Kaisa asked. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Johanna turned to face the young witch with a bright smile. Since the day they’d met each other in the woods two years before, they’d been inseparable. And Johanna wasn’t about to let that change.

“A three pm curfew is ridiculous and you know it. I’m not letting you go on a cool magical adventure without me, Kai. Besides, they won’t even be home! I’ll be fine.”

Kaisa sighed. She had to admit Johanna’s curfew, as well as every other limitation her parents gave her, were very strict, but how fair something was or not didn’t change the fact that Johanna would be punished if she got caught. At least she knew Johanna was quite good at this: she knew exactly what to do to not be seen having fun. It was around this time in the afternoon that Kaisa got invited over to Johanna’s house to play on most days, since the girl knew her sitter would be too busy watching her soap opera to notice her sneaking another child in the house. Besides, it wasn’t like Kaisa could talk her out of helping her; when Johanna got something in her mind, nobody could stop her.

“If you say so.” She shrugged, turning her attention back to the book she was holding. It was wordy and hard to read even for an adult, but Kaisa rather enjoyed deciphering it. In its pages was all the information humans knew about the Draugen treasure. Tildy had assured her that it wasn’t real, nothing more than an old sailors’ tale, but Kaisa knew it had to be real. Out of the few things her mother had left her, this book was one of them, and Kaisa believed that her mother wouldn’t give her a book filled with made up information.

“So, where are we headed?” Johanna fell in step with Kaisa, trusting her friend to lead the way even if she occasionally had to point out a closed walking sign or stop her from hitting a person or a street lamp. Kaisa could get very distracted when she was concentrating on her books.

“To the harbour.” The witch said with confidence. “And then, to the Draugen treasure.”

_#_#_#_

Things hadn’t been as simple as that. Once at the harbour, the two children had to face the fact that they had no means to go underwater. Johanna knew how to swim, and she even offered to go and get the proof that Kaisa wanted to bring home to her mentor, but Kaisa declined, not only wanting to see the treasure herself but also knowing that no matter how good Johanna was at swimming, she wouldn’t manage to find the shipwreck.

Feeling stuck, she’d sat down on a bolster to think. Nothing in her book hinted at how to actually get to the treasure, she knew so because she knew each word in it by heart, and still she searched the pages hoping an answer would magically appear.

“It’s not too bad if we don’t find it.” Johanna cooed from where she was sitting on the sand. The disappointment in Kaisa’s face was something she didn’t like to see, and it made her want to hug her. “Even if you don’t have any proof to take to Miss Pilkfist… you know it’s true. That’s already enough, isn’t it? Plus, if we wait we’re going to see a gorgeous sunset from here.”

Holding her cheeks between her hands, Kaisa grumbled. “I guess.”

Even though she’d given up, Kaisa continued staring at the book. Until, that is, she heard her friend gasp.

“What a pretty seashell, look!”

On Johanna’s palm there was a pearly white conch shell, its shape a little too perfect for it to be natural. Kaisa hopped from the stone, extending her hand so as to ask Johanna to see it, but the girl didn’t notice. Instead, she chuckled as she took a better look at it.

“It kind of looks like a tiny tuba, doesn’t it?” Saying that, Johanna brought the shell to her lips and blew. Both of them shrieked when it made a sound much louder than they had expected, even the birds from nearby trees flying away in fright.

“What the heck?” Johanna looked to her left to check if Kaisa had also been as surprised by the vibration, but the witch was staring wide eyed at something behind her friend. Turning her gaze to the sea, the girl gasped as she saw a tower of water rise up, with eyes staring right at them. If a being entirely made of water could even look annoyed, Johanna was sure this would be it.

“A water spirit.” Kaisa whispered. “Johanna, you’re a genius.”

Johanna had no idea of what was happening, but given that Kaisa seemed to have she didn’t worry. Instead of running away like she imagined would have been the most logical decision, Kaisa walked closer to the spirit and uttered gibberish. At this point, Johanna had lost count of how many magical languages she’d already heard her friend talking in.

Apparently happy at having been talked to, the spirit shape shifted to the form of a bubble. Kaisa turned back to Johanna with a smile, offering her hand to help her get up from the sand.

“Come on, Anna. We’ve got a treasure to find.”

_#_#_#_

The underwater landscape was something they both knew they’d never forget. Miraculously, the water spirit had taken them, safe and dry, through the sea that connected their city to other far away lands. When Kaisa pointed out a picture in her book that showed a representation of the sunken ship, the spirit had set off to a certain direction without needing any further instruction, which left the two girls free to look at the fish that swam by them and the other strange creatures they couldn’t recognize.

Once they reached the boat, or at least what was left of it, they couldn’t help but stare in awe for a couple of seconds. As soon as the shock of actually having found it wore off of Kaisa, she fist pumped the air. She really had been right, and she’d prove it.

Aside from a single draugen who for some reason didn’t stop sweeping a broom around during the whole time they were there, no one seemed to be guarding the treasure. This allowed them to find the chests the book spoke of, filled with golden items and a variety of other items.

“We could be rich!” Johanna had said, touching the golden coins and chains as soon as the water spirit rolled forward so the chests were inside the bubble.

Kaisa shook her head. “I don’t think we should take any of it. Tildy says it’s never a good idea to steal from the dead. We don’t know what’s up with that Draugen there.” She pointed to the cleaner, who had explained his situation upon their arrival. “As far as we are concerned, he might have been cursed for trying to steal some of the treasure.”

The possibility made Johanna hastily drop the coins she’d been holding.

“Oh.”

“Besides, maybe someone else would like to see this in the future, and I wouldn’t want them to find nothing. “

Following that logic, Kaisa decided to take a chip of wood from the weak shell of the boat. Certainly, that was insignificant enough that they wouldn’t face any repercussions, and it still was something they could take home for her to show her mentor that she’d been right.

They were returned to the harbor by the spirit, who as kind as always nodded them goodbye. Kaisa stared at the spot where it had disappeared, thinking that now she’d have even more motivation to learn to speak Water Spirit. That one seemed like a good friend to have.

Just as the sun was beginning to set, the two of them arrived at Tildy’s home. The sorceress was sitting on her couch, crocheting something out of pink wool, and Kaisa knew she’d felt it when they entered the house even though she didn’t look up.

“Aha!” The girl cried triumphantly, walking up to her teacher and raising the chip of wood above her head. “I told you the Draugen treasure was real, Tildy! We’ve found it, and I can prove it!”

As serene as if she was going through a daily occurence, Tildy lifted her gaze up to her young apprentice and to her friend, who was just beside her.

“How lovely that you found a fun way to spend the day! And welcome, Johanna, I made a cake today thinking about you. Why don’t you put some water in the kettle and we can all eat it while having some tea?”

“Sounds delicious!” Johanna set off to the kitchen, having been there enough times to know where everything was. Kaisa was left standing in front of the woman with an eyebrow lifted.

“Thank you for this, dear.” Tildy said as she took the chip from her hand. “Just what I needed.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You’re not surprised? You believe me?”

“Of course I’m not. And you have always been more of an overachiever than a cheater, so yes, I do.”

“Wait…” Kaisa looked down with a crease between her brows, trying to put the pieces together as the mentor got up from the sofa.

“I do know the treasure is true. But you see, I needed something that belonged to a Draugen for a potion I want to make and that’s not really easy to get! So I thought I could count on you to want to prove me wrong if I said I didn’t believe in it.”

“Tildy!” Kaisa groaned. She wanted to be annoyed or angry but truly? She found her mentor’s behaviour quite amusing. Would she ever manage to outsmart the great arch sorceress, Kaisa wondered.

“Let’s go eat, now. You two deserve your cake.”

_#_#_#_

After eating, Kaisa had offered to walk Johanna back to her house. The days were getting ever shorter, and the wind was icy cold as they walked, but they didn’t care. Being with each other always made the rest of the world fade away, and once again Kaisa was grateful that Johanna had been so insistent on befriending her. They were laughing and shooting the breeze while they walked, until Johanna stopped abruptly and gripped Kaisa’s wrist so she would too.

“My parents are home.” She whispered stiffly, looking at the house’s garage, where there were now two cars. “They will probably have noticed I’m gone by now.”

“I’ll go with you.” Kaisa said immediately. “I’ll… I’ll say I pressured you to leave without supervision.”

Johanna gave her a sympathetic smile. There was evident sadness in her eyes, and she squeezed her friend’s hand.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do and you know it. We’ve been here before. If they think you’re guilty of anything, they will want me to stop seeing you. Turn back now and it’ll be better for both of us.”

Kaisa’s shoulders slumped. It wasn’t often that something like this happened, but whenever it did, she was filled by a sense of helplessness before her best friend’s situation. Still, Johanna knew her own parents better than Kaisa did, so she always obeyed.

“Library as soon as you can?” Kaisa asked in a small, hopeful voice, knowing that Johanna’s parents wouldn’t allow her to leave the house at all for a while. It was their arrangement that whenever Johanna got grounded, Kaisa would be in the library at exactly ten in the morning every day until Johanna was allowed to leave, even if followed by her sitter, to tell her she was free to visit Kaisa and be visited by her.

Johanna nodded and let go of her hand, only heading toher house when Kaisa had already begun to walk away, so as to be sure her friend wouldn’t try anything heroic.

Her pace was closer to a run as she went back to Tildy’s. Tears stung at her eyes but she held them back. It wasn’t fair that Johanna would be punished if Kaisa was the one who had asked for company. It wasn’t fair at all. One day, Kaisa thought, she’d be strong enough to save her too.

_#_#_#_

When Johanna asked her how her afternoon had gone, Hilda had had to resist the instinct to say the first lie that popped on her mind. She was being honest now, she reminded herself. In the most calm and casual way she could, she narrated the events she’d gone through while her mother finished preparing their dinner, but it was easy to tell her mother did not approve of most, if not everything, of what she was telling. Her shoulders were visibly tight and her mouth was pursed, and the only reaction Hilda got were grunts. When the story was finished, the woman sighed tiredly.

“Hilda, I… I don’t know what to tell you. Sweetheart, you could have gotten hurt.”

“Mum” Hilda groaned, trying to make herself look taller. Why did her mother think she was so fragile? “I understand you’re scared for me because you just want me to be okay. But I am okay! This wasn’t dangerous, I promise. You had to see Frida, she was awesome! She’s so smart and skilled.”

Johanna took a deep breath as she took the pie away from the oven and over to the table. No, it wasn’t dangerous, at least what Hilda had told her wasn’t. She still didn’t like it, since her own experiences led her to be wary about that situation, but she knew making a storm in a teacup would only make it so Hilda never told her anything.

“You’re right, sweetheart. I just want to tell you to try not to rely on magic for everything. And Frida… she’s your friend, and a good girl, but do not idolize her, okay? She’s just as human as us, and you may not be able to count on her for everything.”

Hilda’s brow furrowed, thoughts about what it was that her mother wasn’t telling her clouding her mind. “She’s my best friend, mum. I know I can count on her.”

Johanna clenched the fist that wasn’t pulling herself a chair.

“I suppose you can. But listen to me on this, I don’t want you seeing the librarian again.”

Now sitting in front of her mother, Hilda blinked in surprise. “What? Why?”

“Anyone who feels this comfortable giving children magic is not to be trusted” Johanna answered simply, making her child sigh.

Getting her mother to trust her judgement would take a while.

#my fic #fic: afs #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : Happy Finan Friday dear readers!! So this chapter we have more of Finan and Vicky getting to know each, and god I love them. Anyway! I'm having fun finding song lyrics for my chapters titles, it makes them look ✨cool✨

Warnings : blood and death (again lol)

Chapter 3 : We've opened the door, now it's all coming through

Victoria couldn't help but develop a real fascination for the way she's now so easily healing. Most of the time it's only accidental, she drops a glass and cuts herself when she throws the debris or cooks and burns herself. Each time, any wound has disappeared in a matter of minutes. She's still not used to it, but she realizes it doesn't affect her everyday life at all, in fact, she's even starting to like it and finding it pretty useful. She even contemplates talking about it with Rebecca, there’s no secret between them, and this is definitely a big secret. 

And in matters of secrets, Rebecca doesn’t forget that Victoria didn’t talk about the person who was in her apartment a few days ago. “Are you going to tell me about him?” She asks before bringing her frapuccino to her lips while they are sitting at a Starbucks table. 

“About whom?” Vicky raises an eyebrow, feigning misunderstanding.

Becca rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “The boy that was at your flat.”

“There was no boy.”

“A girl maybe.”

“Neither.” Rebecca narrows her eyes, she’s always been hard to convince. And in all honesty, it will be very hard to convince her that there was no one, because when it comes to Vicky’s love life, she’s tough. “I just have plumbing problems.” She lies, looking down to her own coffee.

“Oh, of course, my bad.”

Her friend doesn’t search further, but Vicky is pretty sure she won’t give up and will ask again and again. When she goes back to her place, she doesn’t expect to find Finan sitting on her staircase. She stops a few stairs below, staring at him with wide surprised eyes, waiting for him to raise his nose from the book he is reading.

“The hell are you doing here?” She finally asks, upset by his lack of reaction.

He looks up to her and smiles, pointing at a small plastic bag next to him. “I came to return ya the sweater.”

Vicky frowns, climbing the last stairs to unlock her door while he is closing his book and standing up. “You know, it was my ex’s, I didn’t particularly want to see it back.”

She can feel Finan behind her, looking down to her. “Ya got a point.” 

She watches him for a brief moment above her shoulder. This time his beard is shorter, which undeniably suits him in her opinion, even if she never had a particular thing for bearded men before. Her ex couldn’t grow a single hair on his chin. “Have you been waiting here for long?”

“Two hours.”

“Creepy.” She replies, opening the door. “Do you want something to drink?” 

“If ya’re proposing.” He shrugs. 

Once again, they were both standing in her flat, though this time she hopes Finan wouldn’t end up dead on her parquet. She comes back from the kitchen with two glasses of water, handing one to Finan before leaning against the table. 

“So…” She begins, determined to know more about the strangest man she has ever met in her life. “I guess you're not living in London, right?” 

He takes a long sip of water before shaking his head. “No, in a small house lost in Ireland.” 

“Alone?” She asks curiously.

“Yes.” He answers after a pause. “Believe it or not, but I try to not make myself too known.” He says slowly, agitating the water in his glass by moving his hand in small circles, his gaze fixed on it.

Vicky tilts her head. “Because of the theorists?”

“In part.” He looks up to her for a brief instant, his deep brown eyes meeting hers. “Before the Second World War, I could live in some place for ten or fifteen years then just move away.” Then he sighs, almost nostalgically. “Now, it’s more complicated, with all the technology.” He meets her gaze again, but this time it’s more intense and severe, making her feel nervous. “No one must know about it.” 

“It’s hardly something I can hide.” Vicky replies, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but she can already feel the unpleasant outcome of this conversation. 

Finan is silent for a long moment, walking to the table to rest his empty glass on it. He’s now close enough for her to have to raise her chin to stare at him, but he avoids her eyes. “That’s why ya’ll have to leave too.”

“What?!” She gasps. “No! I have my family, my friends…”

“Ya don’t understand.” He cuts her off and meets her eyes. “Your family, your friends, everyone is goin’ to grow old and suffer and ya…” He pauses to take a deep breath. “Ya’ll still be yourself and won’t be able to do anythin’ for them.”

Victoria is breathless, both because of what he has just told her and because of how she can read in his eyes that he knows what he is talking about. Though, letting everything behind, all her life, doesn’t sound like an option to her. She straightens, as if she could tower him, but she’s still a head smaller. 

“And where would you want me to go? I’ve not been living on my own for a century, if I disappear, it won’t go unnoticed.” She replies, her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

Finan sighs. “Listen Victoria, maybe ya're family is wonderful and will accept it. But nowadays, one person knowin', and it's potentially the whole word who would know.”

Victoria frowns, understanding the warning behind. “Do you think people could want us bad if they knew?” 

“It wouldn't be the first time.”

She bites her lips, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh as she looks down to her glass. She has to admit it, if the knowledge of their existence ever fell into the wrong hands she doubts scientists, politicians or whoever could find interest in their abilities would let them live freely. It feels so surreal, she’s always lived a rather simple life, not that she’s ever complained about it, but since she let Finan step into her apartment a week ago everything has been shaken out. 

“Ya still have time.” He adds, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gentle way.

Victoria nods. “Are you going to stay around? Or go back to Ireland?”

Finan hesitates, his palm leaving her shoulder to rub his face. “I don’t know yet.”

“Well…” She says and he stops scratching his beard. “I still have a lot of questions. So if you could stay around for a short while.”

Vicky is surprised by how endearing she finds the smile that grows on Finan’s face, small wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes. “If ya want me too.”

And so, Finan remains in London, spending his time in the mediocre hotel, of what Vicky has seen on TripAdvisor, that he is renting. The rest of the time he is with her in her apartment, answering every of her questions. She enjoys learning about his life, usually over a beer, and it seems Finan does as well. In the course of a few days she learns that he was born in Ireland sometime during the ninth century and that he left for England where he fought for a saxon lord, during Alfred the Great's time. He’s easily the most interesting man she’s ever met. But he also has the talent to make every story more interesting than any of her history teachers ever succeeded. He describes each battle he took part of with so many details Vicky wonders how he can remember everything. 

“Fightin’ was the only thin’ I was good at, so I kept doin’ that.” He says after she has asked why he devoted his life to fighting.

Vicky uncaps a new bottle of beer and sits next to him on her sofa. “But you don’t fight anymore.”

“Nah…” His eyes darken in the same way as when he remembers a sadder part of his life, which Victoria is getting used to having only brief explanations of. “After the Second World War, I felt like I needed some peace.”

“I can understand.” When she was small, she remembers her grandmother talking of how the war changed her father from a lively and smiling man to a silent and constantly gloomy one. Finan had fought in more wars than she can count and to know that this one has signed the end of his warriors life reminds her of how it was a war like no other.

But her time with Finan isn’t only about morbid battles, the warrior had his share of travels. When he’s talking of them, it doesn’t sound like the world she knows. He describes places still untouched by the desire of humanity to build its own tower of Babel.

“Have you been to America? After Christopher Colombus discovered it.” She asks curiously another day.

Finan chuckles. “Nah, I’ve never liked the sea. So crossin’ a whole ocean for some lands...” 

“Some lands? It’s like one of the greatests discoveries in history!” She answers feigning offense, her hand pressed to her chest. “You’ve never been curious about all the gold you could have found there?” She leans back on the couch, bringing her bottle to her mouth. “Maybe you’d have been rich.”

“Pity.” He smirks, being rich clearly being the least of his ambitions. 

Besides their discussions about Finan’s life they also have normal conversation. She lends him books from the shop, crossing her fingers that no one would notice some of the books are disappearing for a few days. The second time she does that, she adds a phone to the small pile of books she hands him. Finan frowns at it and then at her. He slides the books in his bag before studying the cell phone. It’s the simplest and cheapest she has found, just a screen and a keyboard, it only cost her 10£.

“Why are ya givin’ me that?” He mutters, doubtful. Vicky finds it amusing, despite having lived through all the evolution of modern technologies, Finan seems to be as comfortable with it as her with administrative paperwork.

“Well...” She starts, putting the groceries she just bought in her refrigerator. “I just thought it would be easier for me to send you a text when I’ve finished work. Not that it bothers me that you wait for me in the staircase, but I doubt it is comfortable.”

“I was getting used to it. I haven’t bein’ waitin’ in front of a Lady’s door for ages.”

Vicky looks at him from above her shoulder and can’t help the redness rising in her cheeks when he grins amusingly. She immediately looks in front of her again when his gaze travels from the phone to her. “I doubt I correspond to your definition of a Lady.” 

“I’ve got a very broad definition.” She could hear his smirk as he speaks, the one that she has started to notice being so characteristic for him and all she can do is to answer with an awkward giggle.

When she’s done, she turns around and crosses her arms against the counter, Finan standing at the other side. “Have you… Have you had many relationships since you first died? I mean, serious ones.” She’s almost certain he won’t answer this question, but living eternally without anyone to love has been scaring her for a few days.

“One.” He answers surprisingly fast. “It didn’t end well.”

Victoria nods slowly, his answer being enough and understanding it isn’t a subject he wants to dwell on. Apart from the arrival of Finan, her life doesn’t change at all. She keeps working at the bookshop, drawing in her sketchbook when there are no customers. Vicky has always loved to draw, a passion she has inherited from her mother. Sometimes, she wishes she had the guts to apply to art school after high school instead of getting herself into business studies that she grew to dislike. When Finan asks her why she didn’t follow her dream, she answers that did it to stay with Rebecca. Her best friend has always been better than her when it came to school, and her parents always felt the need to compare them. Doing the same studies as her was more to prove to her parents she could do it too. At the end it has been an absolute failure, Vicky giving up her studies and finding a job in the bookshop.

One day, she has a call from her mother while she walks back to her flat. 

“Do you think Rebecca would still like to join us for dinner one night?” Vicky’s mother asks through the phone. 

“Sure, especially if you make her lasagna.” She smiles.

Her mother laughs. “Rebecca loves beef stew.”

“True, but I crave for lasagna.” Vicky justifies herself, the simple idea of her favorite food creating a hole in her stomach.

“Alright sweetheart. This weekend then?”

“Great! I’ll tell her.”

When she hangs up, her attention on her phone, she doesn’t realise she’s walking into someone until two strong hands grip her shoulders to stop her. She jumps and looks up in surprise, about to step back until she recognizes the man with sunglasses and a hoodie as Finan, whom she texted earlier when she walked out of the bookshop.

“Watch out, lass.” He warns, smiling anyway.

“Sorry, I was texting Rebecca.” She explains, easing under his grip. He removes his hands, his fingers lightly grazing her arms. They walk together to her flat together, Finan silently following her while she finishes her text. When they reach the building and climb up the stairs she finally starts to talk to him. “I won’t be here on Saturday.”

“Oh?”

“Family dinner.” She unlocks the door and Finan answers with a low hum. 

Their evening goes as usual except that this time, Victoria proposes to him to stay for the night. 

“I mean it’s late, and it’s raining. I would be a really bad friend if I kicked you out.” She says, waving her hands while he stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

“So we’re friends now?” He grins, leaning over the table. 

Victoria looks away. “I still consider you the creepiest man I’ve ever met. But if you’re the only person I’ll have to support for eternity, I guess I’d better consider you as a friend.”

When she finally dares to look at him, he has the broadest smirk pulling at his lips and she has to admit it, he really is handsome, with his dark, however sparking, eyes. “Friends we’re, then.”

After she has prepared the couch for Finan to sleep, she joins her bed. As usual, since she had her accident, Victoria struggles to find sleep, and knowing that Finan is sleeping in her living room isn’t helping. Not that she fears him, but she can’t help but overthink about her reaction around him. It’s been a while since she’s found a man truly attractive, not only physically, but his whole being. And in all honesty, with how awkward their meeting has been, it definitely is not a feeling she expected.

She finally falls asleep listening to a Florence + the machines playlist. But much to her dismay, her sleep isn’t peaceful. Since she has met Finan, the dreams have seemed to disappear, but tonight is different. Victoria is back in the forest where the Irishman died, she can even see him from the corner of her eyes, but her attention is mostly focused on the young blond man she has drawn. He is fighting as well, until he is hit by a shield. He stumbles, falling on the floor and catching his breath after the rough impact. And Vicky can feel his fear when a Dane, of what Finan told her of this night, slices his throat in a sharp blow. The young man chokes in his own blood and she shakes in horror as she can feel the life leaving his body as she did with Finan. 

A/N: Ehehe So what do ya'll thing this dream means 👀 ?

Also, for the great fans of TOG that would read that, I am taking liberties regarding how dreams works during all this fic, I haven't read the comics, only seen the movie and to transcribe such thing is kinda hard. I hope yall won't mind and appreciate how work with them 🤷

Tag :​ @for-bebbanburg ​ @naps4bats ​ @osferth ​ @maggiescarborough ​ @finansarms ​ @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby

#finan #finan the agile #finan the last kingdom #Finan x OC #The Last Kingdom #tlk #tlk finan #tlk fanfiction #the old guard

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt76

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

That night Chloe and Marinette were at the hotel. Marinette felt somewhat guilty for the way she’d been relying on Chloe. Even now she was using her as a pillow because she just couldn’t get comfortable on her own. Granted Chloe hadn’t complained at all but between feeling useless and taking up all her time Marinette was starting to feel like a huge burden.

“I know you’re not asleep, you’re far too tense. What’s wrong?” She jumped a little at Chloe’s voice, but couldn’t bring herself to look up at her.

“Why don’t you like Barbara?” Marinette didn’t even know where the question came from. Yes, the tension had been strange but it wasn’t Chloe’s normal hostile attitude towards those she didn’t like either. She’d been planning on just leaving it alone unless they interacted more. However she also didn’t want to discuss what was actually bothering her.

“It’s not that I don’t like her…” Chloe paused and Marinette looked up to see her frowning in thought.

“You don’t know why you reacted that way.” It wasn’t a question but Chloe nodded anyway. “Do you have any guesses? Or does it feel like something you’ve experienced before?” Marinette had learned not to just ignore feelings like this. First because, with the Miraculous especially, their instincts were there for a reason and ignoring them wasn’t a good idea. Second, letting Chloe mull over a problem by herself had a tendency to blow up in everyone’s face.

“It sort of feels like the way I was with you when we were little. I think…” She paused and Marinette just waited, hugging her a bit tighter so she’d know it was okay. “I think I’m jealous that she can understand you in a way I can’t. That you can share things with her you can’t with me.” The words were soft, like she didn’t want to be heard. “It’s stupid I know.”

“Your feelings aren’t stupid and I’m glad you told me.” Marinette paused to think about the problem. Unfortunately it was something time was likely to fix. “She might have a better understanding of what I’m going through, but you’re the one here with me all the time. You’re living through it with me and that’s far more important. Assuming you don’t get sick of me using you as a horse, pillow, and errand girl before I get things figured out and can actually do things on my own again.”

“Until we figure things out. And honestly I like being with you all the time. Not to mention I actually feel needed which is really nice. I know it’s selfish but before this happened I always felt like more of a tag a long than anything else. I’ve been waiting for you to decide that you deserve better, or that I’m just a phase you’re going through. Now I at least feel useful.” That finally caused Marinette to really look at her. The guilt in her expression hurt, as did knowing that she’d missed this, probably since they started dating.

“Chloe, you’ve never been a phase and even if there’s better out there, which I highly doubt, I don’t want it. I want you.” The look of shock and hope on her face caused another wave of guilt. “What’s more I need you, and not because of my legs. Whenever I feel like I can’t do something, or like I’m a failure, you’re there to tell me to get over myself and do it. Whenever everything gets too overwhelming you’re there to pick it apart into manageable pieces. When everything is just too much, you’re there to tell me that I don’t have to do everything by myself. I don’t need you because I can’t walk. I need you because you’re you.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Damian was texting Luka on the burner phone he’d bought not long after finding out Marinette was Ladybug. He’d wanted a way to communicate that his family wouldn’t have access to so that they didn’t get information they shouldn’t have. He was especially grateful for that device now that Drake was in Paris.

“Do you really have a boyfriend?” Tim’s question caused him to roll his eyes. He didn’t bother answering. No one in his family seemed to know what to do with that information though he didn’t know why. It didn’t seem to be attached to the fact that he liked another boy either. “It’s just… honestly with the way you act around other people and the fact that you’ve never really shown interest in anyone before we all kind of figured you were ace.”

Damian leveled his brother with a flat look. Once he’d started feeling things for Luka he’d done a lot of research on sexual and romantic attraction. The sheer number of orientations and vocabulary was honestly annoying to him. He understood that most people wanted to feel like there were other people out there that were the same as them, but it seemed like there were so many overly specific descriptions that it just made his head hurt. Eventually he decided that finding a specific label for what he was, wasn’t just unnecessary, but also limiting. He didn’t want to put himself in a box that would define him when he wasn’t certain about any of it in the first place.

“I didn’t realize you all talked about my personal life so much. You really should concentrate on your own rather than try to analyze mine.” Tim frowned at him but it looked more like confusion than insulted.

“We care about you, whether you want to believe it or not, and we want you to be happy. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to be with someone if you don’t really want to be.” Damian could only scoff and the stupidity of that statement.

“When do I ever do something I don’t want to do without one of you forcing it on me?” Tim actually flinched at the question. It was true though. His family had an incredibly annoying habit of not only inserting themselves where they weren’t wanted, but also pushing him where they wished with no real regard for what he wanted.

“We’re just trying to help you. You act so certain of everything but you’re still just a kid and considering a lot of your attitude and opinions were set by your mother we want to try and make you open to new things.” That just brought another eye roll.

“And you really think forcing me to do things against my will or better judgement actually makes me more open to things? Given the fact that none of you even bother to ask me what I think or feel about anything you’re just projecting your assumptions on me before making decisions about what I should or shouldn’t like or do. None of you know me at all yet you constantly feel the need to ‘fix’ me. All you’re really doing is making me less likely to try things on my own since I know you’ll all just fixate on it and then force me to do it the way you think I should.”

Tim was looking at him like he’d never seen him before but Damian just ignored him and continued texting. That was another reason he didn’t want to label himself. Everyone in his life already did it for him, no matter how inaccurate it actually was.

AO3   Beginning   Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

@noirdots @valeks-princess @chocolatecatstheron @krispydefendorpolice @bee-wrecker @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @northernbluetongue @paradoxal-occurance @scrumptiouslyelegantchaosqueen @sonif50 @thequestionablyhuman @persephonebutkore @elspethshadow @geekydragonyt @mmwolf1605 @da-tasuky @mjisntme @bluerosette23 @anjuschiffer @littleredrobinhoodlum @tazanna-blythe @resignedcatservant @schrodingers25 @seraphichana @persephonescat @punstoppablechatnoir @magicalfirebird @crazylittlemunchkin @corabeth11 @cyborgcandy @casual-darkness @shamefullove @miraculous-simmer7 @tamoni112 @cat181818meow @littleblue5mcdork @allthebooksandcrannies @enchanted-nerd @disneyfoxuniverse @fallinginthe-void @mandy984 @goggles-mcgee @fontegagrilledcheese @dorkus-minimus @theatreandcomicfreak @zerotosiki @ayuchan07 @mindfulmagics @urbanpineapplefarmer @winter-gardenflower @mooshoon @my-name-is-michell @melicmusicmagic @7-sage-7 @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @alicesangelofmusic @caffeinetheory @nataladriana9 @multplelifes @wanderingreader1019 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mvaree @redscarlet95 @storyteller-d @howabouticallyou @ginamarie1512 @kurogaya913 @tbehartoo @maddrag @two-faced-biatch @senyahgirl @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @iloontjeboontje @kakashixobito @welcometopradasa @amirahevens @amlesi @miraculousbelladonna @virgil-is-a-cutie @18-fandoms-unite-08 @cupcakeandkisses @angelofmusickaterinapetrova @book-r-the-best @dur55 @moonlightstar64 @fertileleaf @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @thecaptainthunder @danielslilangel @novicevoice @nyaabinch @interobanginyourmom @welcometopradasa @charlietheepic7 @im-here-for-the-content @maya-custodios-dionach @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @starwindmaden @tired-butterfly @rogueptoridactyl @emeraldpuffguide @suzen23smith @yuulxd @animegirlweeb @alovelyocean @kris-pines04 @semaalcocer-blog @cadencehood @jardimazul @shethecat @silent-storms-posts @simplysslytherin @tog84 @thesunanditsangel @dast218 @tall-and-angry @the-alice-of-hearts @captainmac6 @theyellowfeverexperience @chrismarium @alessialeone6997 @heaven428 @tinyterror333 @smolplantmum @lilyellowink @naoryllis @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou @magewriter @doodledeerest @athena452 @peachedpocky @tired-butterfly @risingmoonyue @lunammoon @mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law  @bobothyross @silvergold-swirl @loysydark @heaven428 @peachedpocky @hauntedwintersweets @awesome-starfish-and-tacos @silvergold-swirl @rosesgonerogue @castielsofficialtoothbrush @myazael @aestheticnpoetic @creator-josie @sturchling @snowstar1016 @myblacknightworld @kittycatwowmeow @midnightkaito @chylou34 @hufflejournals @indecisive-mess-named-me @uwuteamleader @sassakitty @jessigurl-design @demigodgirl20031 @freshbark @soup-served-chilling @elmokingkong @unknownvsworld @thatonegaybitchfromschool @tis-i-beanbandit @damianette-is-life @peachesbackup @nobodyw8s4evr @the-fusionist @iwantwhirlledpeasandlotsatrees

#maribat #marinette dupen chang #Damian Wayne #bffmaridami

[inlovewithdisaster]

JUDGE PROFILE: TOBIAS MENDELSSOHN

tobias’ formal contest experience has been……spotty, to say the least. he loved the performing arts as a kid and coordinated/composed frequently outside of his classes, and with his record of misbehavior as a small child, this was one of the few things he would miraculously sit still and focus on. but in the past few years, joining a 200-or-so-year-long fight for justice in a foreign country has really put a pause on his passion, to say the least; when he stands on stage today, he’s dusting off some serious childhood cobwebs that have collected on his art. 

that’s not to say he’s completely rusty, however. in the year that he’s led preuzien, he’s had some contest appearances here and there, and he’s done a great number of street performances of traditional draconid dragon-riding--his brand while he was working with the prussian rebels. what’s more, he’s learned from the best: the inimitable wallace kassai, @hisvanity​, the greatest coordinator who has ever lived, was a childhood family friend and mentor to him, and his grandfather, ezra mendelssohn, earned a great claim to fame in the 20th century as the pretty boy who dominated cool and tough contests with his quickdraw. as a result, he’s got quite a few educated opinions on what coordinating should be……and oh my god, he will die for all of them.

as a judge, he’s intelligent and insightful, but brutally honest to the point of being rude. while most of his observations are artistically sound and logically correct, he tends to say it in a manner not unlike simon cowell. having been raised with such high standards when it comes to coordinating, he also tends to dock more than he should for any particular offense. he’s as sharp as wallace with his observations, and more than twice as bitchy. be warned.

LIKES.

tobias is an educated man of many different tastes, who can appreciate the beauty of art in all its forms. he’s not near as picky as ursula when it comes to what he finds “beautiful” or “appealing”; all he wants is that whatever you do, you commit your heart and soul to it 110% and you do it well. a dainty ballet routine can earn the same score from him as a motorcycle stunt performance set to death metal. he’s looking for aesthetically appealing performances that involve nuanced details and complex technique; how you achieve this is no concern to him as long as you achieve it.

i should note that for him, “aesthetically appealing” has a broader range than it does for ursula. he is able to appreciate the strange, the avant-garde, even the grotesque, in a way that the head judge can’t. whereas she’ll balk at a dada-inspired routine, he’ll probably be all over it!

unlike ursula, who hates being preached at, he also prefers appeals that have a broader message or statement. whereas ursula with her little brainpower loathes appeals whose stories and messages are too hard to understand, tobias can fully appreciate and give points for such feats. he also has a major soft spot for satire, especially satire directed at unjust authority figures--or at his fellow judges!

like his mother, he also likes out-of-the-box, creative performances that break conventional stereotypes and roles. after all, his grandfather ezra was told that he was too “pretty” to ever make it big in the cool and tough categories, but that ended the moment people realized he was a wwii vet who brought his gun-shooting talents onstage! wallace’s influence certainly helped in this department--he’s had an aversion of coordinating and showcasing clichés hammered into him since childhood. some of the things that count as unconventional for him include but are not limited to:

gender noncomformity.

ugly or undesirable-looking pokémon such as garbodor, mr. rime or skuntank.

tough-looking pokémon showing a more elegant, graceful and tender side, or vice versa.

showing a side of a pokémon’s species that is not otherwise explored (e.g. milotic may be very beautiful and graceful but it is also a dragon, and wallace is one of the few people who portray it as such).

pokémon and people expressing contradicting qualities at once (fierce yet soft, cute yet dangerous) gives performances a unique flavor and complexity.

portraying contrasting themes within your appeal. 

did we mention he’s educated? he loves references to nerd shit. like poetry, or history, or mythology……he’ll understand every single nerdy little reference that a cerebral appeal has to offer, and it’s guaranteed to make his intellectual heart light up with delight.

as a brown indigenous jew, he also loves appeals that show peoples’ culture! the type of routines he’s best at are steeped in draconid cultural tradition, so he’ll always have a soft spot for those who share their heritage with pride.

lastly, given that he’s a red-blooded risk-taker, he loves daring stunts. after all, dragon-riding shows are built on them!

DISLIKES.

from the above, it’s clear that he likes appeals that put a lot of thought into them. as such, he hates appeals that he feels are low-effort, whether physically or intellectually. if your technique or your visuals or the way you convey your message are too simplistic, you’re not getting a good score, no matter how dazzling you pretend to be. he is sharply critical in this regard, and will incisively see through layers of shine to any inadequacy underneath. his standard for sophistication is so high that you’ll have to jump higher than you ever have to reach it.

he also hates inauthentic and soulless appeals. he’s very good at seeing when someone actually means the stuff they put in their performances, as opposed to whether they’re just pandering to his tastes. he would actually prefer a cliché appeal that the creator is genuinely invested in to an unorthodox appeal where the performer is just trying to check boxes of unconventionality to impress him. (you’d probably never be able to guess it though, with how harshly he can rain down criticism on the cliché!)

he also has a certain distaste for appeals that use only the most standard contest/showcase pokémon. whereas ursula can quickly lose interest in an appeal that doesn’t have the standard milotics and gardevoirs plastered all over it, he regards people who rely too heavily on the conventionally pretty and popular with severe distaste. given that his mentor is wallace, he has a special aversion toward milotic, who wallace himself is SICK and TIRED of seeing in contests. it’s not that he’ll automatically hate performances with these pokémon. it’s more that if you do use these pokémon, you’ll have to work extra hard to seem unique.

as a draconid, he’s also incredibly picky with how people use dragon pokémon in appeals. if you thought he hated established tropes and conventions already, he has an anti-special place in his heart for those who default to common themes with their dragon pokémon. he has buckets and buckets of salt to pour about how dragons are overused, how their trainers lazily use them for instant intimidation, how trainers collect dragons not out of appreciation but to take advantage of the legendary power that accompanies them……and if you don’t present your dragons well, he won’t hesitate to accuse you of any number of these things. particularly, he loathes seeing dragons depicted as the villains in a story performance, unless there’s a dragon hero character to cancel it out. given the fact that “dragons = villains” has been used to demonize his european draconid ancestors for so long, if you invoke this trope in any way, he’ll borderline call you a racist.

#preuzien #ilwd2k21updates #ilwd2k21

[batwngs-archive]

i am back again because i love you and i love ur thoughts and opinions. SO what or who are some of your biggest influences on your writing? and 😌 favorite book, story, poem, anything!

miss holly blessing my existence and my tiny lil corner yet again🤧💕

a lot of my influences really come from like movies, music, and poems bc I consume those the more frequently and more often! I kinda just try to get some vibe from movies/poems/prompts/etc. and run with that but music helps in the crafting/writing stage as I mostly improvise with my writing (which is like. what I mostly do) sometimes even pictures (literal photographs and artwork, or the images/colors evoked thru certain words) just capture the essence I want to write out which is always a nice challenge! 

I also think hanya yanagihara’s a little life accidentally influenced my writing in a very noticeable way: I finished reading that book last year around this time (which was probably the greatest, most perfectly timed mistake of my life) right before I wrote/finished writing winter coat. the tone and voice of my writing shifted to something closer to that of a little life, which is something I've been subconsciously doing throughout this year too. it’s just the overwhelming tenderness and persistence of friendship that gets to me and I really believe that book impacted my approach to writing tenderness, platonic and romantic love, and just mundanity in general. also what I had admired so much about yanagihara’s prose was how easily she would move in and out of scenes, jumping from present to past to potential futures to present again, and how despite all that movement we as readers were unbelievably close to the main character. her writing is just terribly honest and brutally poetic, which is something I hope to achieve one day with prose and poetry 

also hate to say it but richard siken’s poetry, esp his book crush, is another major accidental influence. I spent my first year of college just reading his poems nearly every night before bed and my favorite from that book is “wishbone” something about it always gets me. the way he writes largely impacted how I write poetry even though I wanted to mimic mary oliver over any other poet when I really started focusing and writing poems in early april. but im too desperate and cruel to exude the tenderness and kindness that oliver’s poems hold, it just ended up being something closer to siren’s crush and war of foxes (maybe after a year or two of tenderness I will calm down and write things that don’t drive me insane)   

all my other influences (james baldwin, chen chen, nam le, mary oliver, toni morrison, etc.) write with such honesty and sincerity that I really admire and want to emulate within my own writing; that and their own interpretations of tenderness. I can also easily say that children’s books (like frog and toad, miraculous journey of edward tulane, etc.) and movies (particularly ghibli, but also 80s/90s/00s animated stuff) are strangely and immensely influential for the same reason: tenderness. I just really crave it and hope that my writing on all accounts can capture that 

and it’s important to note that a lot of my friends and writers that I follow on here, twitter, etc. are super important to me and my writing like y’all really helped me grow as a writer and see things in new ways which is why I love writing so much; it’s a community thing that relies on us communicating and sharing and responding to one another, it’s always been that. y’all really influence my writing and it’ll always be changing and moving to match the sexy iconic ideas y’all have sitting in ur big brains :’)

SEND ME ASKS

#this ended up being really long omg #there's a lot of stories and poems mg I cant list them all #but yea tenderness is IT I want to be tender and kind!!!! #also I would not recommend reading a little life it's a really heavy book #I wish I knew of the content warnings before I was absorbed into it but it's a painfully tragic and beautiful book at the same time #u really have to be in the right place and time and headspace to read it bc I was not and it really made things bad for me #at several points like I really had to put the book down and not read it for months until I was ok again #but in that way jude (one of the mcs of the book) has been with me throughout 2019 and still echoes into this year and most likely next too #thank u for sending this in holly ilysm ur presence is always lovely!!!! #pray you mark

[guardiankarenterrier]

Ladynoir with B. Under cover of darkness or M. When it rains/snows/storms?

why choose one when i can do both

rena and carapace invited themselves and plagg had Opinions so this is far longer than originally intended

( ao3 link!)  

“Remember when weather warnings meant something?” Rena Rouge grumbles, ducking back under the bridge with the rest of them.  They’re so utterly drenched even from that quick foray out that Chat’s frankly glad he didn’t draw the short straw on checking out the situation.

“No, actually,” Ladybug says dryly, ducking back in from the other side and lowering Carapace’s shield from over her head, ignoring Rena’s sudden indignant noise to hand the shield back to a relieved-looking Carapace. “We’ve been doing this too long to worry about the weather anymore.”

“Just be glad there’s not an icescape out there,” Adrien agrees fervently, shuddering at the memory of the last two.  "Or an ocean.  Or a volcano.  Or-“

"I get it,” Rena cuts him off hastily.  "I get it, Chat, you can stop.“

”-or nightmares,“ Adrien concludes stubbornly.

Carapace snorts, slotting his shield against his back again.  Their suits may be temperature controlled anyway, but Carapace definitely has the most protection, where Ladybug and Rena are much more obviously uncomfortable in the cold.  Adrien is, too, but he’s closer to Carapace’s level of protection than their partners are.   "Nightmares are not weather, dude.”

“They are if you run into someone afraid of thunderstorms.  Or hurricanes.” Adrien tilts his head back and lets it thump against the bridge’s foundations, wincing as the impact jolts his cat ears and rattles through him.  "But this is weather-weather, so… now what?“

It’s technically still akuma weather- the last few weather akuma have wreaked havoc on the storm systems, and according to Tikki Miraculous Cure can only do so much to fix that- but there’s no specific akuma causing it and therefore nothing to fight.  This is the aftermath of the last few fights with weather-based akuma, colliding in a way that just so happened  to dump several feet of snow on all of Paris.

It is also, very distinctly, localised to Paris.  If anyone had any doubts that it was a result of Hawkmoth’s akuma playing with the weather, the clear cutoff in the storm at the edges of the city is damning proof.

There’s been enough trouble with their weather without Hawkmoth’s interference so that’s especially aggravating.  Adrien knows of at least two city officials who are now doubling down on blaming all their troubles with the weather on Hawkmoth, including problems that started before Hawkmoth had ever been active.  

And their kwami refuse to confirm it, but Chat Noir and Ladybug both heavily suspect a properly-used Butterfly Miraculous has the potential to help with the weather. That is well beyond aggravating.

Rena Rouge eyes the swirling snow just outside the safety of her hiding place, taking a quick step forward before hopping back from a crosswind that blows into their face anyway.  They sneeze, one ear flicking with obvious irritation.  "Just exactly how well temperature-controlled are these suits?”

“Startrain,” Ladybug reminds her, shaking her head and smoothing snow from the pigtail Carapace’s shield hadn’t quite covered.  "So, very.“  She considers the rest of them for a moment, leaning against the bridge foundations herself and shrugging herself comfortably into Adrien’s side.

She ducks under his arm with a soft sigh as he wraps it around her without thinking.  He leans into her in turn, grateful for the warmth- their suits do protect them from cold temperatures, but they’re not as effective at protecting them from the driving snow or biting wind.

Adrien winces as he realises visibility is going to be a real problem if there any more akuma today.  He edges a little closer to Ladybug without meaning to.

"So, now what?” Rena asks, glancing from the two of them to Carapace and raising an eyebrow.  Adrien’s fairly certain the look they’re giving Carapace is supposed to mean something specific, but he’s mystified as to what.  Carapace doesn’t seem to notice it at all, though, so maybe it’s nothing.

“We wait, I guess?” Carapace suggests, sounding less than happy about it.

“We could.” Ladybug’s voice is dry.  "But I don’t know about the rest of you, I personally would rather wait somewhere a little more hospitable.“

They’re all silent for a moment, long enough for the drifts piled up around their meagre shelter to loom ominously in the edges of Adrien’s vision. The whistling wind fills their sudden silence like it was waiting for them to drop their guard, hissing through the air like a hidden threat and making Adrien’s hair stand on end.  He knows there’s nothing there but his subconscious isn’t convinced.

The same biting wind skims swirling bits of snow of the tops of the drifts, sailing around and through their hiding place and setting everyone to shivering again.

Rena looks even less enthused, taking a step back to survey their tiny area when it’s clear that Carapace has yet to pick up on- on whatever they were trying to hint at.  Adrien still isn’t sure.  He still isn’t sure that they are trying to hint at anything.  Plagg would probably know, but that doesn’t help him right now.

And a moment later, Rena’s eyebrows jump into their hairline with evident glee and Adrien forgets all about it anyway.

"There,” Rena says, gesturing wildly at something behind Adrien, and he reluctantly turns to look without moving away from Ladybug any more than he has to.

“I don’t-” Adrien starts, brows furrowed, and then he tries to take a quick step back and nearly trips over his own tail.  He would have slammed into the concrete foundation, if Ladybug hadn’t caught him in time.  "These bricks look different than the rest.“

"They’re newer,” Rena says.  That spark of glee hasn’t faded yet.  "They’re walling something off.  C'mon, let’s Cataclysm them and find out!“

Adrien flinches minutely, though he’s not sure he could put his exact reasons why into words if he was pressed.  It’s just that- something about Rena’s easy assumption, their near-demand, rankles in a way he doesn’t like.   (It’s too familiar a feeling, though without Plagg here to give him a pointed little jab about it Adrien doesn’t have to or want to admit that).

Cataclysm would be the easiest way to find out what’s behind those too-new bricks, but Adrien doesn’t carry an unlimited supply of Camembert.  One or two cheese wheels he can explain.  More than that, though, and it starts to become a little weird.

And if word gets back to Hawkmoth, who knows exactly what kwami are and how their recharges work, it’s going to look more than just a little suspicious.  Adrien doesn’t know if Hawkmoth knows what each kwami prefers to eat, but he’s not going to risk Plagg’s safety on an uncertainty.

But Rena is still looking at him expectantly, their head cocked to the side as they tap their foot.  It’s not impatient, not yet, but it’s close enough to spur Adrien to tug loose from Ladybug’s grasp and study the off-colour bricks.  A Cataclysm could take them out, but he’s not sure they’re different enough from their surroundings for his Cataclysm to stop there.  He doesn’t have any particular desire to bury his team under a bridge today.  They don’t get enough time together as it is, he doesn’t want to cut it short with Ladybug having to Miraculous Cure them back to safety and he thinks that probably counts under misusing their powers.  

Ladybug wraps a hand loosely around Adrien’s arm before he can test the wall and find out.  Her hold is loose, loose enough that Adrien doesn’t have to stop for her.

He stills anyway, ears flicking towards his partner.

"Rena, it’s not a good idea to ask Chat to Cataclysm anything that’s inconveniencing us,” Ladybug says, fixing Rena Rouge with a piercing gaze.  "What if there’s an akuma in the next hour and he can’t recharge? Besides,“ there’s a very strange tone in her voice now, one Adrien can’t identify, "You still need to actually ask him.”

Adrien pauses.

He hadn’t even realised that Rena had assumed he would use Cataclysm on their request.  That’s what has him on edge.  

He does that for Ladybug, after all, but that’s- that’s different.  That’s only in battle, anyway, and that’s because she’s the better strategist of the two of them.  Adrien’s nowhere near too proud to admit that, not when it’s saved both their lives so many times.  He spends far more time in battle with Ladybug than he does with Rena Rouge or Carapace, and a lot of the time what might look like Ladybug commanding him to use his powers is actually silent agreement- they understand each other without words better than Adrien’s ever experienced or expected before her.  He’s starting to have something similar with Nino, now, but it doesn’t come anywhere close to approaching the unspoken connection he shares with Ladybug and if he’s honest he doesn’t want it to.  That bond with Ladybug is something he treasures as much as he does his kwami.

A lot of that bond is probably forged through battle, through needing to know what the other is planning without words.

Adrien likes to think there’s more to it than that, even though Plagg groans and complains and generally makes an overall nuisance of himself anytime Adrien tries to suggest things like fate or destiny.  Adrien likes the idea, even if his kwami and his partner have both made it clear that they don’t.  

Carapace is giving Rena an unreadable look, too.  "Not cool, dude.  You’d never normally forget that, it’s not cool to do that to Chat.“ He turns back to Chat Noir too fast to pick up on Rena’s stricken face.  "Those do look different, though.  Would Cataclysm even get us through there, or would it just take out-” He waves vaguely at the bridge foundations around them- and the bridge itself above them.

“I don’t know,” Adrien admits, leaning away from Ladybug just enough to run his claws over the bricks.  (She seems reluctant to let go of him, now).  "They’re not that distinct from the other bricks, and I don’t really want to have to claw our way out of a snowdrift that size.  Or a rubble drift that size.“

Carapace squares his shoulders, levelling his gaze just beyond Adrien and Ladybug.  "We could try it inside Shellter, if you’re up for it.”  He glances back at them both, expression softening, and adds, “I’ve got extra food on me, too. I know it isn’t what your kwami prefer, but they’ll eat somethin’ else in a pinch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Adrien says absently, studying the wall again in light of Carapace’s suggestion.  "Yeah, they will.  And I have got some of Plagg’s recharge on me, so as long as no one else attacks, we’ll be okay.“

"If no one else attacks,” Ladybug murmurs, but under her breath enough that Adrien’s the only one who hears her.  She doesn’t sound that worried, and when he darts a glance at her she doesn’t look very worried, either, and he relaxes a little bit.

Maybe more than a little, judging by the way Ladybug startles before giving him a strange look.

Carapace hesitates, looking between them, before taking a deep breath.  "And if this goes where I know we all think it goes, then it’s gonna be real dark in there.  Chat Noir’s the only one who’s gonna be able to see and I, uh, I d-don’t really mind if you know who I am, dude.“

That hits Adrien with such a physical sensation of shock that it leaves him outright stunned.  He tries to come up with a response for Carapace and fails, ears flattening slowly as he blinks at Carapace instead.

"No one’s gonna be able to see Chat Noir, we’ll have enough time to get away from any light,” Carapace adds hurriedly, but he’s still looking at Adrien as he says it.  "He’ll be able to see me, but that’s it, dudes. Is- is that alright, LB?“

Adrien’s not sure what his expression is when he turns to Ladybug, but he’s guessing it lands somewhere between ‘nervous’ and 'hopeful.’

Ladybug holds up the hand not still holding on to Adrien, shaking her head.  "I’m leaving that up to you two this time.  You know it’s a safety consideration, Carapace, but-” Her eyes flit between Chat and Carapace so fast that Adrien almost thinks he imagined it.  "I trust you both, and I’d trust Chat Noir with- with anything, so it’s your decision to make.“

Adrien notices that tiny skip before anything, that odd little hitch in his partner’s breath, but he doesn’t have time to react beyond his heart possibly missing a few beats.

"I’m all for it,” Carapace says immediately, swinging his shield off his back again and moving forward.  "Chat Noir? You up for this, dude?“

Adrien has some follow-up questions, honestly, but they’re for Ladybug alone so he forces them back.  "Ready when you are.”

“Turtle power,” Carapace says, halfway to a shout like he changed his mind halfway through, only for his eyebrows to shoot up when Rena Rouge echoes him much louder.

They’re back to grinning when Adrien glances back at them, but there’s a shadow in their eyes now as they look between him and Carapace that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

He really doesn’t think they meant to phrase their request as a command.  It isn’t like Adrien had even noticed they’d done it.

But he can’t deny the warmth that wraps him at the way Carapace and Ladybug had told them not to, a warmth strong enough to chase away the chill of the storm.  He would never have expected them to come to his defence like that, not when he was only marginally aware there was anything he was being defended from.  

Carapace halts a good few feet away from the wall, planting his shield in front of him and leaning against it for a moment. He wipes snow from his hood and turns to raise his eyebrows at Ladybug.  "Uh, LB? I’m gonna need you to let go of him. Unless you wanna be in on this, somehow?“

”…right.“  Ladybug clears her throat and steps away from Adrien.  "I don’t think this is a Lucky Charm situation.”

“Don’t say that just yet,” Rena jokes, joining Ladybug.  There’s a strain in their voice that wasn’t there before, but when Adrien looks at them it doesn’t show in their face.  

“Ready?” Carapace asks, and Adrien eyes the wall and nods.  "'Kay, same time, or?“ He waits for Adrien’s shrug before calling, "Shellter!”

Adrien’s “Cataclysm!” almost-but-not-quite overlaps his teammate’s shout.

He thinks he hears Ladybug and Rena Rouge both giggling.

Adrien ignores that as much as he can, studying the bit of wall trapped inside Shellter with himself and Carapace.  If he’d thought of it he would have asked Carapace to keep himself outside of their Shellter, but there’s not a whole lot he can do about it now, so Adrien tries not to jostle the other hero too much when Carapace joins him in studying the bricks.

“Any particular spot you’re focusing on, dude?” Carapace says in an undertone, leaning over Adrien’s shoulder in a way that makes him shiver.

He definitely hears their partners giggle that time.   (Rena might not officially be Carapace’s partner the way he and Ladybug are, but- Adrien’s seen them fight).  

“No,” Adrien admits, raising his hand and hesitating.  He doesn’t want to accidentally bury Carapace any more than he does the others, but when he tries to sidle more in front of him Carapace stays stubbornly right where he is.

Adrien takes a deep breath and swipes at the wall, only to startle when Carapace’s shield suddenly locks into place over both their heads.

The bricks mostly crumble away from them anyway, but Adrien still turns to see Carapace giving him the side-eye.  "Hey, dude, I know you get protective, but I’ve got a shield, yeah?  You don’t gotta keep putting yourself in danger for the rest of us.“

Ladybug actually starts clapping at that.

Adrien turns to give her a dirty look, but she only graces him with a sunny smile in return.

And, well- he’d be lying if he said that smile didn’t do things to him, so he can hardly hold on to any irritation now.

"Into the murder tunnels!” Rena cheers, pushing past the rest of them with a flick of their tail.  "Last one in’s a caterpillar!“

"Why a-” Carapace winces, apparently catching a joke that flies right past Adrien.  "Oh, that’s cruel.“

He still makes a point of getting through their broken wall right after Rena, Adrien notices.

Adrien doesn’t realise he’s waiting for Ladybug until she takes his hand again to tug him in alongside her.  "Then the two of us can go together.”  She raises her voice, echoing oddly even just inside the tunnels.  "How does that one work out for the caterpillars, Rena?“

Rena’s voice, conversely, is strangely muffled.  "Well now you’re both bugging me.”

“You are worse than Chat,” Ladybug groans, but she squeezes his hand when she says it.

(By now, Adrien is trying to figure out if he said something, or did something, around Ladybug at some point to make her worry.  She does reassure him often, but not like this, and especially not in front of teammates.   She’s been barely willing to let go of him this whole time, and while that’s not uncommon for him it’s a lot less usual for Ladybug.  He thinks something must have spooked her- he just has no idea what).

It’s still cold in the tunnels, but it doesn’t feel like the wind’s trying to cut right through him anymore.  Adrien winces as he reaches up to rub at the base of his cat ears, gently- he hadn’t realised until now that the cold combined with the rivets had been sapping so much of his body heat.

Ladybug reaches up and runs a soothing hand between his ears herself, startling a very loud purr out of him, startling them both.

Ladybug snatches her hand back, red spreading out beyond the edges of her mask as Chat watches in confused fascination.

They’re both broken out of their sudden trance by their teammate’s voices.

“There’s a split in the path up here,” Rena calls back, which goes a way to explain why their voice isn’t echoing the same way as Ladybug’s. “I’m gonna head left, I think.”

“Rena,” Ladybug says, raising her voice just enough that Adrien goes still for a moment too long and she leans into him, traces of her blush beginning to fade already.  "I know you can’t see, why are you in the lead?“

As if to underscore that, Carapace’s Miraculous beeps from somewhere up ahead.  Adrien’s own Miraculous beeps barely a second later.

"I got curious!” Rena sounds a little closer, and Adrien and Ladybug hit the split in the path themselves in time for Adrien to put out a hand and keep either of them from walking into a wall- or Carapace, who’s standing at the fork in the path.

“I stopped when I realised there was a split,” Carapace admits, dryly.

Even in the darkness, though, Adrien can see the way Carapace’s arms are folded defensively, his opposite hand hovering protectively over his beeping Miraculous, and thinks that’s not the only reason that he stopped.

Carapace looks a lot more nervous about his Miraculous running down than Adrien had expected.

Gratitude floods through him.  Adrien tries to let go of Ladybug’s hand long enough to go rest his hand on Carapace’s shoulder, but like before Ladybug seems reluctant to let go.

Adrien’s sure she would if he made any real attempt to pull away, but he’s a little afraid that if he does that she won’t want to stay close like this again. He settles for laying his free hand across Carapace’s crossed arms.

“You know,” Adrien starts, nerves starting through him like a tripped current now, making his ears flatten and his tail flick.  He’s abruptly very grateful that he’s the only one in here with night vision.  "If you don’t want me to know, you could always just follow Rena Rouge? We can head the other way.“  His smile’s wry, even if no one can see it.  "Our weapons have probably got a flashlight function on top of everything else, honestly.”  

“I don’t think it’s occurred to Rena to check,” Carapace says dryly, but he uncrosses his arms as he says it.  "Nah, dude.  If it’s still okay with LB, I kinda- I actually kinda wanted you to know?“  Carapace isn’t really looking at Adrien to begin with, he’s looking somewhere to his left, but as he says that he looks away anyway and raises one hand to the back of his neck.  His Miraculous beeps again.  "I dunno, dude, I just.  It seemed important to me.”

Adrien makes a noise in response, or he’s pretty sure he does.  He doesn’t know what kind of noise it is, but he does know that it makes Ladybug draw him closer and slide her hand from his own hand to his arm and then up to his shoulder.

Both the way he leans into her touch and his quiet purr are automatic responses, pulled out of him without conscious thought.

“It’s his decision, kitty,” Ladybug says, softly, and Adrien’s ears twitch towards her at the undercurrent of guilt in her voice.  "It’s- it’s not really a decision I should ever have been making for the rest of you.“

Adrien stops purring.

"Including you,” Ladybug adds, even quieter.  "Sorry, Chat.“

"But you,” Adrien starts, and then he has no words for an interminable moment, before he manages to blurt out, “But you had a- have a good reason.”

Ladybug doesn’t look at him as she shrugs and says, still very quiet, “Everyone’s already in danger.  Hawkmoth has all of Paris under constant threat, really, and a lot of my friends and family have already been akumatised.  I don’t think any of us knowing about each other is going to have any actual effect on who gets targeted.”

Adrien’s heart jars so badly at her words, at the implication in her words, that he doesn’t think he could respond if he tried.

“Besides,” Carapace adds, and he’s very close to his final beep as he lowers his hand and looks between them, “You were worried Hawkface could figure out identities from his akuma, right? An’ now we know he can’t.”

We do? Adrien wants to ask- starts to ask- but that’s when Carapace’s transformation gives out entirely and Adrien’s train of thought goes crashing to a halt before it can pick up any momentum.

He thinks he says Nino’s name, or tries to, but if he does it’s not recognisable.

“Hey, dude,” Nino says, adjusting his hat as Wayzz flits up to the brim.   Nino pauses long enough to fish a crumpled bag of tamarind candy out of his pocket, handing it up to his kwami.  "I’m Nino, you’ve uh, you’ve actually met me a few times?“  His hand’s creeping up to the back of his neck again.  "Dunno if you’d remember me, but I was there for, uh, Anansi? Zombizou and Horrificator, too.  And, um, Jackady.  Probably a few more than that…”

Nino trails off with a wince, and Adrien remembers vividly how much Nino never wants to talk about Bubbler.  Not that Adrien would ever ask him to, but some of their classmates do want to talk about being akumatised, and they aren’t always the best at noticing right away when someone would rather not.

Most of them would rather not.  

Adrien takes a step closer to Nino, seized with a sudden terrible need to hug him, and stumbles to a jarring halt.  Nino doesn’t know that it’s him, can’t know that it’s him-

But Ladybug is starting to imply that might not be true for much longer, and Adrien can see Nino’s crestfallen expression when he stops, and he feels Ladybug’s hand slip off his shoulder as he darts in to hug Nino anyway.

“I know who you are,” Adrien says, wrapping his arms around Nino tightly, the same way Nino hugs him. It had taken Adrien a while to get used to the way his friends hug him regularly, and he hadn’t expected the way they all hug him differently, and Nino gives some of the best hugs.  Adrien’s not very good at emulating them yet, because he can’t seem to rid himself of his initial hesitation where Nino’s never hesitated,  but he’s been trying.  "You were amazing with Anansi. If I’d been the one to choose Carapace, it still would have been you.“

"You were a little tied up at the time, dude,” Nino jokes weakly, but he returns Adrien’s embrace just as strongly as ever without saying a word about it.

Adrien’s ring beeps a final time before his own transformation lets go.

The freezing chill in the air weaves around and through him immediately, sinking straight through his clothes, and when he starts to shiver he notices for the first time how badly Nino is shivering.  Neither one of them is dressed for this weather.  No one had expected this weather, the four of them should really be getting on with their actual patrol to make sure no one else is caught out in it.

Not that any of them can see through the blizzard outside the tunnels, not even him and Plagg, but he still feels like they should try.

When Adrien shivers again, Nino hugs him closer.  Adrien is much, much warmer everywhere Nino’s in contact with him, and Ladybug’s near enough his side still to light a line of warmth as well.

“Okay, is anyone coming or am I off to explore the murder tunnels on my own?” Rena Rouge calls, leaning from the split corridor and eyeing them with their lips twitching into a faint smile.  "Seriously, I may get murdered, I feel like at least one of you should care.“

"You’ll be fine,” Nino says, muffled because he still hasn’t let go of Adrien.  Adrien’s pretty sure Ladybug and Plagg are both laughing at them.  He thinks Wayzz might be laughing at them, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Wayzz laugh.

“Kids,” Plagg sighs, spiralling up above them both before perching on Adrien’s head.  "You are hopeless.“

Adrien tilts his head back, trying not to grin as Plagg stubbornly stays put. He knows Plagg can see in the dark just as well as he can- Plagg’s going to know exactly how Adrien is reacting.

Not that Adrien really minds that.  He’s so used to having Plagg around now that he can’t imagine his kwami not being there.

(Feast had been bad for them both.  For a week after Feast Plagg had abandoned his usual habit of somehow taking up half the bed in favour of staying curled up on Adrien’s shoulder all night- and Adrien’s not sure that Plagg slept at all that week.  He knows how paranoid his kwami had been right after Feast.  Adrien had been too).

"All right, you hopeless cat,” Ladybug says, amusement clear in her tone as she reaches for Adrien’s shoulder again.  "You’re the only one who can see, where are we going?“

"Hey, cheese first,” Plagg interjects, digging down into Adrien’s hair in a way that makes him wince.  He knows Plagg won’t scratch him, but he also knows there are claws very close to his scalp right now, and it makes him want to hiss and bat his kwami off.

Which Plagg knows.  Plagg is definitely doing it to irritate him.

Adrien’s not rising to it.  He’s not.  He lets go of Nino to fish out Plagg’s Camembert and hands it up to his kwami.  "Do not get cheese crumbs in my hair, please, do you know how hard that is to get out?“

Nino and Ladybug both snicker at that.  Wayzz sighs, huddling closer to Nino’s hat.  Wayzz is probably about as thrilled with the cold as the rest of them.  

"It is a pain, though,” Adrien says, whining more than a little, knowing he’s whining and revelling in not caring because no one here is going to judge him for it.

Nino does the same thing he always does when Adrien whines at him, which is to reach for his hair to ruffle it, and for the first time Adrien jerks away.

Nino’s hand drops to his side, his face doing something very complicated that Adrien can’t read.  "Sorry, dude, didn’t mean to startle you.“

"You didn’t, you were about to get between Plagg and his cheese.  Didn’t want you to get bit,” Adrien says, stepping sideways without knowing why until Ladybug’s arm wraps around his waist, a sudden flare of warmth that wards against the cold.  Adrien’s lungs restrict so fast and suddenly at the sensation that he checks to make sure it is her arm and not her yo-yo, even as he tells himself that wouldn’t make any sense.  

But he didn’t think Ladybug would want to risk learning what he wears as a civilian.

(Which is, sadly, not winter weather gear at the moment- they hadn’t been prepared enough for that.  It is still freezing, Adrien can’t feel his fingertips or toes.  He’s really starting to hope that either their kwami have a solution for that or that he can transform back soon).

Ladybug’s doesn’t move away, and she doesn’t say anything about it.

 I don’t think any of us knowing about each other-

She’d said any of us.

Adrien suppresses another shiver as he huddles closer to her.  It’s not from the cold, this time.

“Wait, Plagg bites?” Nino sounds bemused.  When Adrien looks back to him, Nino’s blowing into his hands and rubbing them, which suddenly seems like a very good idea to Adrien.

“Of course I bite,” Plagg grumbles, shifting on Adrien’s head.  He must already be done with his cheese.  "Why wouldn’t I bite?  Why wouldn’t you bite?  You think Wayzz doesn’t bite?“

Wayzz sniffs before drifting back down off Nino’s hat.  "I do not bite.”

“Trixx bites.  Tikki bites.”  Plagg sounds gleeful.  "Why wouldn’t you?  Biting’s a valid tactic.“  

"Why wouldn’t I bite?” The look Nino gives Plagg is deeply disturbed. “I don’t-”

“I bite,” Rena calls brightly from the next tunnel, and for the first time Adrien wonders exactly how close they were when Nino introduced himself.  He knows from Ladybug already that Carapace and Rena do know each other’s identities, but he doesn’t think that they know that he knows that.  "He’s got a point, Cara, why wouldn’t you bite?  You’ve got teeth, use'em.“

"I was going to go with Rena,” Nino tells Ladybug, twisting slightly as Wayzz drops down to his hands.  "Now I’m way less sure about that.“

Rena leans on the wall, lounging in a very deliberate way that wouldn’t look out of place in some of Adrien’s upcoming photo shoots.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s desperately hoping an akuma interrupts those. Adrien had argued against doing them at all but he’d ultimately lost- he always loses, because a lot of Father’s points aren’t bad points.  Adrien is older now, and it does sell well, and he’s hardly the first model to move on to something more mature and it’s really not that suggestive, not at his age.

But Adrien still really doesn’t want to do it.  Father had been implacably insistent that that is not a reason, while sternly reminding Adrien that it’s not good to make excuses for himself, and Adrien genuinely hadn’t meant to make excuses especially when he knows how much Father hates that.

But none of that erases how much he doesn’t want to do it).

"I kinda need you to go with Rena,” Ladybug’s telling Nino when Adrien starts paying attention again.  Ladybug’s smile is wistful, downturned at one corner.  "I’ve gotta talk to Chat about something- it’s nothing bad,“ she adds hastily, probably in response to Adrien stiffening at her words.  "It’s important, but it’s not bad, kitty, okay?”

Even though she’d been talking to Nino initially, Ladybug waits for Adrien’s faint acknowledgement before she continues to negotiate with Nino.

Nino and Adrien can both transform again by now, and the paralysing chill in the air means Adrien’s extremely grateful when he can relax back into the warmth and reassurance of his leather and mask and the comforting weight of his ears and tail.  

He’s always wanted to ask Ladybug if she feels the same way about transforming, but he’s never been brave enough.

He’s not even brave enough now, now when Ladybug is waving their teammates away down one tunnel while the two of them take to the other.

“Stay safe 'til we meet back up, dudes,” Carapace says, touching his shield absently as if for luck, and now that Adrien knows who Carapace is it’s so easy to recognise the play of real concern in Nino’s eyes, so familiar behind his goggles.

If he didn’t recognise Nino until Nino told him, what else might he be missing?

Who else might he be missing?“

"Holler if you get murdered,” Rena calls from their tunnel, far too cheerfully.

“We will haunt you forever if we get murdered,” Ladybug threatens back, but her laugh as she says it rings like church bells in Adrien’s ears.   When she gently pulls him further into the tunnels in the opposite direction, he follows without hesitation, leaving Rena Rouge and Carapace behind in the lightless tunnels.

He’s not even sure Rena and Carapace bothered to find out if their weapons really will act as flashlights.

He knows how capable Nino is, and Rena is no slouch either, so he isn’t too worried about them as long as they’re together.

It feels strangely familiar to walk through the dark with Ladybug.  He can see, and she can’t, and he really should be leading but Ladybug’s steps are soft and sure and all Adrien really has to do is stop her from walking into a wall every once in a while.  Now that they’re getting farther away from Rena and Carapace, the loudest sound is their own breathing, and if it was anyone else in the tunnels with him that would be unnerving but he’s not with anyone else.  Ladybug’s breathing, especially as it slows to match to his own, is a familiar comfort instead.

Adrien’s not sure how long they’re in the tunnel before they stop.  Time seems stretched and unreal, between the dark and the silence and the warmth of Ladybug’s hand in his.  He can still occasionally hear the furious howl of the wind outside when they pass a branching or a turn but it seems remote and distant now, a wind from another world.

The tunnels are a maze, really, and they definitely shouldn’t be doing this.  Normally Adrien wouldn’t be doing this, because there aren’t enough exits down here and it makes his fur- makes his hair bristle, but he has Plagg and Ladybug and he can Cataclysm an exit into existence if he has to.  That doesn’t completely stop the nervous flickers of his ears and tail, or the way his head tilts towards every sound from outside that catches his attention, but it does ward off most of his anxiety.

He has Ladybug.  He has Plagg.  Nino’s in here somewhere, too, and Rena Rouge- and Adrien is trying not to think about it, but if Nino is Carapace then he knows who Rena has to be.  Adrien doesn’t refer to the two of them mentally as partners for no reason, and Nino is far too devoted a boyfriend for Rena Rouge to be anyone else.

And Rena is clever.  Alya isn’t out to very many people at all yet, and Rena Rouge is out to all of Paris.  One of their favourite things to do is to outfox reporters who either won’t respect Rena’s identity or who are determined to focus on it over their hero work; they very obviously take vicious delight in shutting those interviews down.

They’re also very determined to make sure everyone knows their city has a nonbinary hero.  They want to be visible about it.    

(Marc had come out two weeks after Rena’s first relevant interview.  Their pronoun pins are very noticeably fox themed).

Ladybug finally stops somewhere deep in the dark and lets go of Adrien, dragging him back to reality.

“This seems like a good place.  Warmer than we were, too.”  Ladybug says that last bit almost absently, as if it’s an afterthought, even though Adrien knows the cold hits her worst of them all.

“You wanted to talk,” Adrien says, his voice softer than he means it to be.  It’s nearly swallowed up in the darkness of the tunnel, drifting off at the end like the snow outside.

Ladybug takes up a position against the opposite wall, bracing herself against it as she raises her eyes to meet his.  She actually does meet his eyes, even in the enveloping dark, and though Adrien knows she can’t possibly see him he still feels the usual spark when their eyes lock.

Ladybug takes a deep breath and holds it for long moment.  On her exhale, she says, “Chat.  Why aren’t you going home at night?”

Adrien freezes.

“I know you’re not,” Ladybug continues, her voice suddenly terribly gentle.  "I know you’ve been out on m-Marinette’s balcony.“ Her lips twitch, though this time her smile is sad.  "You know she knows you’re out there, right?  You might be good at hiding, cat, but every night?   That’s where the skylight opens.  From her room.  I- she was bound to notice.”

Some distant part of Adrien, the part that connected Alya and Rena whether he meant to or not, is clamouring for his attention.  Ladybug just spilled a lot more detail about Marinette’s home than he’d expect from a casual acquaintance.

The rest of him is struggling to come up with an excuse.

 You shouldn’t make excuses-

But these aren’t excuses.  These are reasons.

“I, uh.” Adrien swallows.  His throat is suddenly very dry.

Ladybug is waiting patiently, and he knows if just tells her he doesn’t want to talk about it she’ll let it drop.  She always has.

But he- he kind of does want to talk about it.  He hasn’t told anyone else, not after Father had shut down all Adrien’s pleas not to have to do it, and he’s far less embarrassed talking to Ladybug than he would be anyone else.  There won’t be any escaping the gossip once the photo shoot is done and the magazines are out, but Adrien had hoped to stave it off for as long as he could.  He hears enough gossip.  He doesn’t want to hear people, classmates, strangers talking about the magazine’s slow edge into more mature poses.

Lila’s supposed to be in some of those photos.  If she tries to turn any of them provocative the way he suspects she might, Adrien is deeply tempted to try and cause an akumatisation on purpose so he can get away.

Ladybug is still waiting, but she’s slid down the opposite wall to take a seat on the ground.  Adrien follows suit, wincing a little as the freezing ground makes a solid attempt to leech body heat even through his suit, but Ladybug stretches out enough that their legs tangle together and that sends an entirely new rush of heat through him.

“I had… an argument with my father,” he says slowly, feeling his way cautiously around what he wants to tell his partner.  There are things he knows Ladybug sort of suspects about his civilian life already, and some of them are correct and some of them aren’t, and he’s honestly not sure which category this falls under.  "He got his way in the end anyway, but he- didn’t- like-“  He swallows again, and he’s unwelcomely surprised when his throat seems to stay constricted.

It’s difficult to get the next few words out, and Adrien almost chokes more than once, and Ladybug leans forward and takes his hand again.

She runs her nails soothingly over his glove, tracing tiny circles and occasionally thumbing at his wrist cuff.  "What didn’t he like, minou?  Why did you stop sleeping at home?”  She narrows her eyes, letting their hands drop lower but tightening her grip rather than letting go.  "You are sleeping, right?“ ’

"Yes,” he says hastily, because his partner’s latched her teeth into this idea strongly enough already. “I’m getting sleep, I promise.”  He can’t say enough sleep, because that would be a lie and he won’t lie to her, but from the way Ladybug eyes him immediately he thinks she knows that.

“Chat Noir.”  Ladybug leans in closer, which doesn’t help Adrien’s need to swallow around the desert in his throat.  "What didn’t he like?  Chat, why did you stop going home?“

Her thumb presses harder into his hand at that, just hard enough to make him flinch, and she retreats as quickly as if he’d bitten her.

(Thank you for that image, Plagg).

"He-” Adrien has no idea why this is so hard to tell her.  He tells Ladybug everything she’ll let him, and she’ll let him tell her quite a lot.  Never anything about his identity, not before now, but she’s let him ramble for three hours straight to her about the most recent anime he’d watched, or talk about his favourite Jagged Stone album for a full patrol, or explain in gleeful and excruciating detail what the newest destructive chemical experiment he and Plagg have found on YouTube is about. (A couple of those have seen use in Lucky Charms, now).

Adrien loves talking to her.  He loves talking to her so much, because she listens.  Even if he thinks it’s dumb, even if he knows it’s dumb, she still listens.  He might be an overexcited cat about anything that interests him, but he’s her overexcited cat.

She always listens, and it’s that thought that he clings to long enough to say, “He doesn’t like it when I- when I disagree with him.”  Adrien drops his gaze, unable to keep looking at his partner even knowing that she can’t see him.  "And there’s- something- there’s something he wants me to do, that I don’t want to do, and he-“ He swallows again, wishing desperately that he had a glass of water handy.

Or even that he’d stayed detransformed.  He could have Plagg had take over explaining for him, even though he knows Plagg will exaggerate and try to make Adrien’s situation seem worse than it really is.  

And something suddenly clicks in Adrien’s head, and when more words start to tumble out of him he can’t stop them.   They come faster and faster as his heart rate rises.

He still wants his kwami, but for a different set of reasons now.

"Father really doesn’t like it when I argue with him.  I’ve been grounded recently, and there’s a gua- a lock on the door,” he can’t admit to a guard, bodyguards aren’t a thing most people their age have.  

He really can’t stop now.  It feels like a dam’s burst inside his head and Adrien can’t stop responding to his partner’s obvious concern.

“My lady, I don’t like feeling trapped. I hate it, I want to get out but then when I get out I have to go somewhere, and M-Marinette’s balcony is- open, and inviting, and I didn’t think she’d mind so I- it’s only until he forgets about it.  He’ll forget about it.”  His ears flatten, and at some point he’d pulled his tail around to fidget with the buckle with the hand Ladybug isn’t clinging to.  "I didn’t even manage to convince him, anyway.  I know he doesn’t- doesn’t see it the way I do, but I still don’t want to do it.  But I didn’t convince him, and he’s not going to give me another chance.“

His voice goes more and more strained as he starts to run out of words again, and he ducks his head and focuses on his tail and on his partner’s hand on his.  

Ladybug’s silent, but he knows her well enough not to panic at that.  She listens, and if it’s something he’s actively upset about she thinks about it instead of responding right away, and he loves her for that because it means she often has at least part of a solution for him.

(And because it reassures him that she does listen.  She’s not ignoring him.  He knows she’s not ignoring him, because she makes sure he knows).

Adrien waits, letting himself fidget in a way he doesn’t do around very many people, as the silence stretches on.  Just when it actually does start to make him anxious, Ladybug moves.

"Tikki, spots off.”

Adrien’s still staring at their hands, but his eyes slam shut on reflex anyway.

“Kitty.”  Her voice is so gentle, even now.  "Chat, you can look.  It’s okay.“

"You said not to.”  He doesn’t look up, no matter how much he wants to (and oh, how he wants to).  Adrien doesn’t open his eyes at all.  "My lady, you aren’t wrong about the danger.  If Hawkmoth ever akumatises me-“

"If Hawkmoth ever akumatises you, and he will not if I have anything to say about it, then my priority will be you, Chat,” Ladybug says, firmly.

The obvious strength of her conviction is almost enough to snap his head up, but Adrien makes a concerted effort not to look, no matter how badly he wants to.  "My lady.  It’s not safe.“

"No one is safe, not now.”  Ladybug sounds infinitely sad as she says that.  "So many of my friends and family have already been akumatised at least once.  It feels like a matter of time for the rest.  If we do this, then at least we’ll know when we’re fighting each other’s families, and we can keep each other on track better.“ She takes his other hand, although she doesn’t move it from his tail.  She runs her fingers along the belt buckle alongside his, instead.  "This isn’t a whim, Chat Noir, I’ve thought about it.  I’ve been talking to Tikki about it all week and she agrees, and she’s never agreed before.  Besides, I-” Ladybug audibly swallows. “I want you to know.  I kinda need you to know, now.  I don’t think you hear what I hear when you talk about your father, kitty, but I want to help you and I can’t.”

He does look up then, slowly, so slow that he sees all the tiny details first but his eyes and mind refuse to cooperate long enough to put them together.

There was real anguish in her voice, and he can’t not react to that.

It’s a strange sort of shock that hits him, one that settles sluggish in his blood instead of striking him all at once like it had with Nino.

Because Carapace doesn’t fight with them that often.  He can forgive himself not seeing Nino in his teammate, when Nino’s never let a single hint slip before today.

But Ladybug?  He sees Ladybug every day, or just about.  He trusts her with everything he has, everything he is, she’s his other half and he aches when he goes too long without seeing her- and too long varies between 'a few days’ and 'about an hour,’ sometimes.  She’s part of him, like they’re each half the pieces to a puzzle too complex and wonderful to see at once, too varied and fantastic to be completed with only one and not the other.

And he loves her, adores her, more than anything.

Which means his heart is crumbling at the thought that he’s never recognised her.

(But hasn’t he- in a million small ways, a hundred tiny interactions that suddenly start to add up, the puzzle’s framework snapping into place at last-

- he has recognised her.  They’d found each other so much more quickly than he’d have thought, and she’s been so close all this time, and Adrien thinks there’s a spark he treasures deep inside that leapt from her to him and him to her that day with the umbrella).

He gets her name out on the second try.  "Marinette?“

"You can come inside at night, you know,” she says, leaning forwards and drawing his hands closer to her.  She has to be freezing, and Tikki’s already darted down to huddle between them in the warmest spot she can find, but Marinette isn’t reacting to the cold at all beyond her shivers.  "If it’s the being inside you don’t like the idea of, I can leave the skylight open.  If that’s not enough I can at least bring blankets up to the balcony with me.  You’re going to get yourself sick sleeping out there, kitty.“

Kitty grounds him, pulls him back and earths him in the moment again, and his startled burst of shock is beginning to dissipate.  He hadn’t known and he can’t believe he hadn’t known, but that means that he sees her.  He’s seen Ladybug in Marinette for a long time without making the connection, and now that it feels like he’s had a curtain ripped away he sees Marinette in Ladybug just as much.

And he loves her, and she’s trying to ask him something.

"You don’t have to tell me who you are,” Marinette says, haltingly.  "I meant what I said earlier.  I shouldn’t be the one making that decision for everyone, but especially not for you.“

"You’re in charge, LB.”  His voice comes out far unsteadier than he would like.   “You know it was always your lead I would follow.”  

Her hands slide easily to his forearms, and he has no idea why until she shakes him.  (But gently- always, always gently).  "Chat, we’re partners.  You get a say too.“

He wants to tell her, because he’s always wanted to tell her.  He wants to tell her.

But now that he actually can he’s finding himself terrified to tell her.

And he has no idea why.

"If you don’t want to say, you don’t have to say.”  Marinette lets go and leans back again and Adrien immediately misses her warmth so much that he almost scrambles after her.  He stops himself, but barely.  "But Chat- this thing you don’t want to do.  How can I help?“  She lowers her voice.  "How bad is it?”  

He tries to smile, but it feels so cracked that he’s relieved she can’t see him.  "I’m starting to seriously consider trying to get someone akumatised so I don’t have to do it?“

"Oh I can relate to that,” Marinette mutters, which is a much better response than he’d been hoping for.  "That’s pretty serious, though, kitty.  You really have to do this?“

"Father’s never been good at taking a no for an answer.”  Adrien’s hands clench involuntarily, his claws scraping in a way that makes him glad that Marinette let go after all.  "And I’m not going to get to argue it with him a second time.“  If he can even call the first time an argument.   Father had barely let him speak, and having Nathalie loom silently at his back the whole time had ratcheted his battle instincts up to a hair trigger that had Adrien riled into putting up more of an argument than usual.

He’d actually felt good about that, up until Father had grounded him and sent him to his room, with instructions to the Gorilla not to let him out for anything but previous obligations.

(Instructions the Gorilla doesn’t seem to feel obliged to listen to, but Adrien hadn’t known that the first few days.  He’d only found out by accident when he failed to sneak past and the Gorilla had gestured him along a clear path to the exit instead of stopping him).

"Seriously, Chat,” Marinette says, pained.  "You can come sleep with- stay! Stay with! You can come stay with me any time, okay?“  She reaches out to ruffle his hair, brushing along the base of his ears, and Adrien doesn’t even try to stop his purr.

Tikki edges closer and peers up at both of them, her eyes boring through Adrien in a way that makes him shift uncomfortably.  Plagg does that, too, sometimes, but Plagg already lives with him.  There’s nothing Plagg could find out now that he doesn’t already know or at least strongly suspect.

"If this would be easier for you with Plagg’s company, you could detransform,” Tikki offers, flitting up level with his eyes without moving away from Marinette.  "The night vision only belongs to you and him.  You wouldn’t have to tell us.“

Adrien exhales so hard he thinks he expels all his oxygen for a second.  It certainly feels that way.

He doesn’t need convincing.

"Plagg, claws out,” he says, hands clenching again as his transformation falls.

He wasn’t wrong before, the tunnel is freezing. Without the enhancement from his suit Adrien can’t hear the winds from outside anymore but the storm must still be going strong.

The first words out of Plagg’s mouth this time are, “You gotta steal my kitten.  Also, I’m gonna bite his dad.  I’m gonna bite his dad so much.”

“Plagg,” Adrien scolds, without much heat.  "We’ve talked about this.“

"You’ve talked about this.  I never agreed not to bite him.”  Plagg zips up to hover between them.  "I’m serious by the way, steal him.“

"You don’t steal people, Plagg,” Marinette says, bemused.  "And it’s still his choice, not the rest of ours.“

"You steal people when their other people are anything like his dad.”  Plagg loops, darting down and phasing into Adrien’s overshirt to snag the last of his cheese.

“Plagg, he’s my father.”  Adrien’s very much back to not looking Marinette in the eye.  He doesn’t know why he thought Plagg would make this easier.  Making things easier is not what Plagg does.  

“Kid, he’s terrible.”  Plagg doesn’t perch on his head this time.  He cuddles close against Adrien’s chest instead, a tiny speck of warmth as he floats in place right over Adrien’s heart.  "I know you wanna defend him but I live there too, an’ he’s terrible.  I want to get out.“

"I didn’t know that.  You never said.” Adrien raises his hand, compulsively splaying it over his kwami, careful not to cage Plagg in.   Even knowing Plagg can phase away, Adrien doesn’t like the sight of his kwami caged in, not even- or maybe especially- by his own hands.  "Did you- do you need to leave?“  Adrien tries to hide the pain that rolls   through him like banked lightning at the idea, but he’d hate himself if he didn’t ask.  "I wouldn’t make you stay.”

Plagg drops his cheese and nips Adrien, so lightly that it almost doesn’t register.  "Not without you, kid, you’re mine.“ At a disapproving noise from Tikki, followed by what sounds like a quick scolding in another language, Plagg grudgingly amends, "My chosen, that is.  You’re my chosen, I don’t mind hangin’ out with your girlfriend here sometimes but you’re mi- my chosen.”  Adrien’s pretty sure Tikki just gave his kwami a dark look.  "M'not going without you, what’s the point.“

"You weren’t going home tonight either, were you?” Marinette asks shrewdly. “Kitty, this weather’s not supposed to let up for days.  You can’t sleep outside in this, you’ll freeze.  My room’s not huge but there’s plenty of space for you.  And if there wasn’t I would make space for you.”  

“M-Marinette?”  He doesn’t think he’s ever stammered like he has today around Marinette or Ladybug.  He hadn’t expected so much of today.

“Chat?” Marinette slides closer now, nearly into his lap with the way their legs are already tangled, and Adrien has a sudden powerful urge to clutch her close to him.  They’re both shivering hard now, and they really should retransform before the cold gets to them.  He doesn’t think their kwami will let anything too bad happen to them but it’s not fair to put that on the little gods.

Adrien swallows, looking at Marinette’s bright blue eyes, so close and vivid that he sees them in after-images when he blinks.  "We don’t have a flashlight.“

It doesn’t take her long to figure out what he means.  It never does.

"But I’ll see you tonight anyway,” she says, touching one earring in a gesture of comfort he recognises easily, now.  "And there’s plenty of light to see you by at home.“

"Kid?”  Plagg circles just far enough away to look him in the face.  "C'mon, I know we’re goin’ anyway, I don’t want to freeze out on the roof.“

"Plagg,” Marinette and Tikki say in unison, and Plagg snickers.

Adrien cups his hands around his kwami, loosely.  "I’ll- yes.  I’ll be there. Um, tonight.“  He glances down.  "As soon as I can get out.”

“If you ever need a jailbreak, call me and I’ll bail you out, no questions asked.”  Marinette’s smiling when he chances another look at her, but her voice rang with enough sincerity for Adrien to know to take her offer seriously.

Tikki insists they retransform, after that.   They’re both losing body heat, even huddled together in the tunnels, and the suits are much better protection than they’ll find anywhere else.

“Hey! 'Grats on not getting murdered!” Rena Rouge says as soon as they meet back up, tilting their head in a way that flops one ear playfully, and the mischievous spark in their eyes is all Alya- or maybe all Alya-and-Trixx.

It’s strange, to suddenly know all his teammates so well.  He’d known them already from fighting alongside them, but this is different.

This is the revelation that his team is made up of his closest friends, something he’d never even dared to fantasize about.

“Who else was aware we are not the only weirdos down in the murder tunnels today?”  Nino sounds far more tired than he had before they split up.   “Because I did not enjoy learning that.”

“He almost got shanked,” Rena shares in a stage whisper.

Carapace gives her a dirty look.  "So did you.“  

They shrug.  "Semantics.”

The storm’s not over, but then it shows no signs of ending any time soon.

“We can’t even get out to look for people in this,” Carapace says, thumbing at his goggles.  "Even with these, I can’t see anything out there.“

Ladybug sighs.  "You’re right.  I’d really hoped we could, but I think we’d all better head home.  It feels like our only other option is sleeping in here, and I am not in favour.”

“I kinda am,” Rena says immediately, lounging against Carapace’s side so suddenly that he stumbles.  "I love horror movies, it’d be fun.  Right, Cara?“

"Rena.” He pries them carefully off, but Rena latches on again in seconds.   “The people willingly sleeping in the murder tunnels? Not the ones who survive the movie, dude.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”  But they do move away this time.  "Ladybug, where do you want us to give our Miraculouses back? Because I’ll be honest, I don’t want to detransform in here.  Not a big fan of the shanking experience.“

"What did you- no, actually, I would rather not know.  And hey, Carapace and Chat Noir were totally willing to detransform in here.” Ladybug stifles a snicker. “But, uh, actually? I want you to keep your Miraculous this time. At least until the blizzard’s over.”

Both of their friend’s faces positively light up.

Adrien turns just in time to see Ladybug’s guilty wince.

“Oh, I wanted more time with Trixx,” Rena says, giddily. “Thank you, Ladybug, we’ll be careful!”

Carapace’s reaction isn’t as pronounced, but he’s still grinning as he adds, “Thanks for trustin’ us, Chat, Ladybug.”

The two of them make it to Marinette’s quickly after that, though they separate to swing wide before meeting back up on her balcony, staggering their arrivals.

“Spots off,” Marinette says breathlessly, landing on her bed and immediately tumbling out of the way to wave him down after her.

He hesitates, looking between her and the corner he’s been taking shelter in recently. It’s kind of a haphazard mix of furniture tucked up beneath her awning, because he hadn’t felt right moving her furniture around too much and he’d felt too exposed when he tried to just curl up on one of her chairs to sleep. Curling up in the corner against the wall had settled his restlessness far more easily.

“Kitty.” Marinette doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to.

Adrien follows her down through the skylight, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the conversations they need to have from here. His problems aren’t solved, and while he trusts Marinette completely he doesn’t actually know if this is something she can help with. Father’s going to be suspicious if Adrien manages to slip out of all those photo shoots, especially after Adrien had tried to argue with him about it.

(But he still doesn’t want- but Father doesn’t care. Plagg’s tried to tell him, but Adrien hasn’t wanted to believe him. Father doesn’t listen, because Father doesn’t care, and Adrien hasn’t wanted to believe his kwami because it hurts).

But Marinette will try to get him out of it. Marinette’s the cleverest person he knows, and if anyone can succeed it’s her.

With another steadying breath, reinforced by the way Marinette herself reaches out to steady him, Adrien breathes, “Claws in.”

He barely sees Marinette’s eyes go wide before she’s pulling him into a hug, pressing close like Nino had earlier. He thinks that’s probably a good sign but then he realises there are tears dripping down onto his neck.

“Oh.”  Her quiet exhalation flutters against his neck.  "That’s- I’m- “

"Marinette?” Tikki flitters anxiously to Adrien’s shoulder, peering down at her own chosen.  "Are you-“

Marinette lifts her head, her face already tear-streaked, and blurts, "Iloveyou.”

Adrien reels back, feeling unnervingly like he’s been hit upside the head.  (A sensation he is unhappily familiar with, given all their battles).

He’s hoped so long to hear his partner say that someday that the reality doesn’t feel real.

“I love you too,” he says back, nearly as rushed, because there’s nothing else he can say.

Marinette laughs shakily, trying to brush away her tears, but there are more every time she tries.  She’s smiling too, or Adrien would be a lot more worried.  "I’m- I’m sorry, kitty, I’m.  You know- you know why I turned you down?“

Adrien’s arms turn leaden at the reminder.  "You- you love someone else.”

The way she ducks her head against him and tries to pull him impossibly closer revives feeling in his limbs, sparking through him like a static shock.  "You.“

"Sorry?” Adrien returns dumbly.  He knows there’s something she’s trying to get across, the same way he’s always known there’s something he’s missing about Marinette’s behaviour around him, but he still doesn’t understand.

It’s a jarring sensation, when he’s used to being so in sync with Ladybug.   He’d never have guessed it didn’t carry over to their civilian selves automatically.  He’s always assumed it would.  

“Hopeless,” Plagg groans, flitting off to investigate Marinette’s window.  He darts through it a few times before knocking the latch loose.  Adrien’s not willing to bet his kwami didn’t outright break it.  "Both of you.“

Tikki bristles and darts after Plagg, which is both an interesting sight and something that makes Adrien twitch with the desire to join the chase.

"You,” Marinette says again, recapturing his attention.  She’s still clinging to him.  "It was you, cat, it was always you, why didn’t I see that.  I should have seen that.“

"That’s about how I felt, too,” Adrien admits, earning another laugh.  He drops his head to the top of hers, inhaling her scent and relaxing with relief.  "Like I should have seen it.“

"I think I just assumed that I would know you.” She squirms, but only to pull him further along the bed with her- away from the skylight, which she really did leave cracked open as promised, even though snow is finding its way through the opening and into her bed.

Adrien reaches behind them both to shut it.

Marinette catches his hand.  "If it bothers you, don’t.“

"You’ll freeze,” he retorts stubbornly, hand stilling on the latch without moving to shut it.

“You wouldn’t let me.  You’re warm enough, kitty, I think we’ll be fine.”   Marinette leans back, all the way back, pulling him down on top of her.

Adrien, who had assumed up until now that he was taking the chaise lounge down below, stares at her and wishes vainly that he had his tail to twist in his hands.  He’d settle for having his ears, just for a distraction.

When he edges to the side, overwhelmed and fidgeting badly, Marinette lets him.  She does snuggle up to his side, but she leaves the distance between them up to him.

Because she knows Chat, he realises dizzily.  Because he’s napped with Ladybug before, and she knows the way Chat likes to cuddle (to be cuddled), and she also knows that sometimes he hits a point where it’s too much and it often takes him by surprise.

Marinette shifts again, but only to draw the blankets crumpled at the side of her bed over them both.

Adrien can’t help but sigh and curl closer after all when the blankets envelop them.  He’s known for a long time that Ladybug doesn’t care for the cold, but he hasn’t thought very much about how that would manifest in her home life.  Evidently it means she sleeps with what must be a good half dozen blankets draped over her.

And then Tikki and Plagg both join them, and Tikki darts off while Plagg makes himself stubbornly comfortable on Adrien’s side of the bed.  Plagg usually likes to hog as much of the bed as he can get away with it but he doesn’t seem inclined to try to get Adrien to move now.

There’s a click from somewhere by their feet and one of the blankets starts to warm as Tikki returns to nestle into Marinette’s pillow herself.  The heated blanket feels especially wonderful after their time underground, and Adrien melts into a fuzzy puddle as he finds himself purring helplessly.

Marinette laughs and frees a hand to bury it deep into his snow-damp hair and scratch, doing very little for his mental faculties.  "We’ve still gotta talk, kitty.  We need to know what’s going on so we can help, you know?  And Alya and especially Nino will want to help too.“ He barely registers her voice turning rueful.  "Will you be okay waiting 'til the morning to talk about it?”

Plagg’s snickers sound very close to Adrien’s ear.  It’s really hard to care.  "Oh he’s gonna have to wait now, Marinette. You just hit all the kid’s weak spots at once, you’re not getting him back up and coherent for a while now.“

"Uh.  Whoops.” Marinette does sound faintly guilty, but not by much.

She runs her nails over his scalp again, kicking Adrien’s purr into rumbling louder.  "Plagg? Where does he have to be tomorrow morning?  I don’t have his schedule anymore.“

"Any- oh, fantastic, you’re both hopeless.”

“Plagg,” Tikki scolds.

“Piano, and no one checks on that unless they’re makin’ a point of it,” Plagg says grudgingly.  "Well, breakfast, but if he’s not back for that his bodyguard’ll cover for him.  He’s done it before.“

"He has?” Adrien mumbles, mostly into his pillow.  He’s purring enough now that he’s not sure how clear his words are.  He purrs whenever he naps with Ladybug, but never like this.  It’s looping on him, soothing him into relaxing more, which makes him purr more, which soothes him more, and he’s distantly surprised he’s still awake at all.

Plagg’s tiny paws press against his shoulder before his kwami curls his whole weight there.  "Has for a while, kit.  Knew he was good people.  Point is, you two’ve got the morning an’ then some.  Which is good, 'cause I can’t believe mine’s still awake at all.“

"Plagg.”  Tikki doesn’t say anything else.  Her tone carries more than enough exasperation.

Plagg’s paws press harder, tiny claws puncturing through Adrien’s shirt, brushing his skin without coming anywhere near to harming him.  There’s a quiet snarl underlying his words when he says, “Like she’s not yours.”

“Not like-” Something rustles.  "What happened?“

"In the morning.” The familiar gruff, protective tone from Plagg makes Adrien smile into the pillow.  He doesn’t think he’s capable of purring any more than he already is, or he’s sure he would.

“You’ll tell me if he can’t?” Marinette asks anxiously.  "If he can’t, Plagg, not if he doesn’t want to.“

"I’ll tell you,” Plagg says, without further elaboration.  "But he needs the sleep.  So do I.  So do you,“ he adds pointedly, and Tikki makes an indignant noise.  "You’re gonna run yourself ragged too, kid.  Bein’ Ladybug doesn’t mean fixin’ everyone’s problems, I don’t care if that’s what the powers feel like.  Go to sleep.”

Tikki hisses something furiously at Plagg, and the laugh Plagg lets out in return is dark and ugly enough to make even Adrien shudder.

“Knew she was yours,” Plagg says, kind of nastily, but when Adrien’s purr starts to taper off Plagg’s attention diverts and he starts kneading at Adrien’s shoulder.  "Kid, go to sleep.“

It takes a little longer than that, but between the shared warmth of his partner and their kwami and the comforting nest of blankets, the lurking knowledge of the easy exits, and the reassurance of the promise of help Adrien finally drifts off.

He’s still purring when he does.

#miraculous ladybug #asks and answers #alexseanchai #team bonding #lovesquare #it hits all sides of the lovesquare at some point somehow #it is DIFFICULT to keep names straight when people keep detransforming and retransforming #emotional hurt/comfort #gabriel agreste's a+ parenting #nonbinary rena rouge #identity reveal(s) #carapace identity reveal #chat noir identity reveal #ladybug identity reveal #(rena only thinks theyre keeping their secrets) #lovestruck chat noir #the murder tunnels #snowstorm #all of these kids love each other

[letterboxd]

How I Letterboxd #2: Dave Chen

In our second of this series, we put Dave Chen in the Letterboxd spotlight. The podcaster, musician and filmmaker is most famous on Letterboxd for his weirdly specific lists. He tells us how he uses the platform, why every film that exists is miraculous, and why we shouldn’t sleep on Not Another Teen Movie.

Hi Dave! How long have you been on Letterboxd? About eight years. I believe I first signed up when it was in beta. I loved (and still love) the interface: how smooth the user flow is for logging/reviewing films, and how beautiful all that movie art looks as it’s organized on the site.

What do you mainly use Letterboxd for? I love reading the reviews on Letterboxd. On a film’s page, the site surfaces many of the most popular reviews and I find it’s a great way to find some quick, witty, and thoughtful comments on something I might be considering watching. But of course, I also love reading and making funny lists. Finally, I’ve heard Letterboxd is great for keeping track of films at a film festival but sadly I haven’t yet attended one since I started using it again.

Do you rate films? Would you consider yourself a generous or harsh rater? I rate films to remind myself how I felt about them at the time I watched. Of course, my opinions on movies change but it’s sometimes interesting to look back and think back to a time when, “Oh right, I did love that movie in the summer of 2019 when I was going through XYZ”. Our feelings about movies can often reflect what’s going on in our lives.

That said, over time, I’ve come to understand that films are miracles. I don’t think I’m the first person to come up with this observation but they are like miniature plays resulting from the collective work of hundreds or thousands of people that have been preserved for your amusement, and you can just play them on demand. Many of them cost only a few dollars. Some are free! Every film that exists is miraculous.

So, despite some of my harsh reviews, I do try to keep that perspective in mind.

You’ve been a member for a while but most of your reviews are recent. What brought you back? We note that you restarted with your third viewing of 1917! I am pretty active on Twitter and I started seeing a bunch of screen-capped reviews go viral there. But to be honest, much of social media can be exhausting to me these days. What I realized recently about Letterboxd was that much of it is free of the negativity. It’s just a bunch of folks who love movies sharing thoughts on those movies, but it also feels like a real community of people. There are filmmakers on there who share their thoughts on films and their favorites, and that’s of course endlessly fascinating (such as Sean Baker). Even the negative reviews can be fun to read. There’s a lot of pithiness and wit on the site, and its design really helps facilitate that.

Okay, take us way back, what was the film that got you hooked on cinema? My first cinematic true loves were the films of John Woo. I’d watched action movies before but I was introduced to John Woo ironically by a counselor at my church youth group! I became dazzled by movies like The Killer and Hard Boiled. It was then that I realized that things I had seen dozens of times (e.g., a shootout in a warehouse) could be elevated by sheer craftsmanship.

What keeps you from sharing your four favorites on your profile? A few reasons. For me personally, it takes months if not years for my thoughts on a film to really crystallize. My relationship with a movie doesn’t end when the credits roll—its ideas and themes and images are often clanging around in the back of my head for months if not years afterwards. As a result, my favorite films of all time change pretty frequently and I didn’t want to have to think about maintaining my four favorites over time.

Michael Caine in Alfonso Cuarón’s ‘Children of Men’ (2006).

Is there any film you could say is your all-time number one? If I had to name one though, it’d probably be Children of Men. It combines all my favorite things into one movie: science fiction, action, Michael Caine and a heartfelt message about how humanity has to be kinder to one another if we are to survive the challenging days ahead.

Your most popular lists are weirdly specific and fun (but true!). What are some other weirdly specific lists on Letterboxd that spoke to you? All the lists I like fall into that category. I love it when people make connections that I never otherwise would’ve thought of. To make a funny list, I think you need to be able to juggle extremely specific pattern recognition with a description that makes people feel like they are learning something about the films or their subjects. While the vast majority of the time these are just for fun, sometimes they actually can lead to insights about filmmakers, actors and the specific themes they try to bring to life in their work.

Also, shout out to Thijs Meuwese, who is leading the way on creative lists.

What is your favorite or most useful feature on Letterboxd? The Stats page [generated for all Pro and Patron members] is a beautiful visualization of the history of my film watching. As I continue to build out my watch history, I’m curious to see the trends that will arise.

What’s a movie where you don’t understand why Letterboxd members love or hate it so much? To answer this question, I took a look at some “worst-rated films on Letterboxd” lists and here’s a totally random one for you: the teen romantic comedy parody Not Another Teen Movie. It’s rated a 2.6 and a lot of the humor of this film has aged poorly but there are some amazing gags in here and it features Chris Evans in a performance that will likely be the apex of the comedic phase of his career. My brother and I still quote this movie to each other. Don’t sleep on it.

Chyler Leigh and Chris Evans in ‘Not Another Teen Movie’ (2001).

Your feature film, Stephen Tobolowsky’s one-man show The Primary Instinct, has a Letterboxd page and a pretty solid rating, congrats! How do you feel having that livestream of instant reactions to it? I’m glad that the ratings are decent, but to be honest, I can’t bring myself to look at them! As part of the filmmaking process, I’m totally open to constructive feedback from people I know and trust, but I’m not sure I can handle the same from strangers. Nonetheless, I’m grateful some Letterboxd members have seen fit to watch the film and take the time to rate it! Perhaps if I make more films in the future, I’ll feel better about checking out the reviews for an individual one.

Among your other skills, you are a talented musician. Can you tell us about some of your favorite film scores? Any cello-heavy scores or composers you find particularly influential? While not really cello-specific, the music of Nicholas Britell makes amazing use of strings (see Moonlight and [TV series] Succession). His music is achingly beautiful and is often in rotation in my playlists.

More generally, Hans Zimmer and John Williams are both legends and I’ve always found their work to be very interesting. In recent days, I’ve been quite taken with the work of Daniel Pemberton, whose work on films like King Arthur and The Man from U.N.C.L.E. have a great populsive energy to them. Finally, when I’m into something more moody, atmospheric or modern, I appreciate the work of Cliff Martinez.

Are you self-isolating right now due to Covid-19? Discovered anything great and new to you to pass the time? We hope everything is alright otherwise! Yes, I'm quarantining due to a “stay safe and healthy” order in Washington State right now. Like many people staying at home, I’ve been watching a lot of TV, which includes things like Tiger King, Devs, Better Call Saul, and Dave (the show on Hulu). These are the things that give me comfort and distraction these days.

Jennifer Ehle in Steven Soderbergh’s ‘Contagion’ (2011).

What are your go-to comfort movies that you recommend to people at this strange and difficult time? This is a weird recommendation, but I’d say Steven Soderberg’s Contagion is a great choice. Contagion depicts a virus far more deadly than Covid-19, and how it eventually leads to the deterioration of the social order. But it’s also a deeply hopeful movie. You see governments come together to try to figure this thing out. You see the people on the front lines risking their lives to fight the fictional virus and I think it’s a great way to help people understand how courageous and valuable all our medical workers are in times like these. It’s “competence porn” in an era where I think we need to be reminded of what competence looks like.

[Editor’s note: Dave isn’t alone, Contagion has consistently been in our 20 most popular films for the past month.]

When the universe is allowed to go back to the cinema, where do you prefer to sit? As close to the center of the theater as possible, with my eyeline at about halfway up the screen.

What’s in your ‘hall of shame’—the movies you haven’t seen and know Letterboxd will boo at you for missing? Don’t worry, we’ll protect you. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Say Anything. Also Firefly, the Joss Whedon show which I don’t think is on your website anywhere. Many people have been complaining to me about this oversight in my viewership for years so I think it’ll do well if we can list it here.

Which film from the past ten years that went by fairly unloved do you think will be a future classic and you’ll fight to the death for loving? I’m going to cheat a little and list a movie that’s eleven years old: Tony Gilroy’s Duplicity. This movie didn’t do super well at the box office when it was first released and currently has a 2.8 on Letterboxd. But it was one of my top ten films that year. I think Clive Owen and Julia Roberts have great chemistry, but I think the film’s depiction of corporate espionage is outlandish, fun and irresistible. These characters are playing a "triple game" and it’s so much fun to see the layers upon layers of deception that they’re creating, and the cascading impacts they have on their relationship. Also, how can you say no to a movie that has Paul Giamatti and Tom Wilkinson as competing CEOs literally going at each other?

And finally, please name three other Letterboxd members you recommend we follow. I collaborate with Melissa on YouTube/podcast reviews and she is incredibly thoughtful and articulate. I always appreciate Khoi’s thoughtfulness. And Mike Ginn—this guy is hilarious.

You can enjoy more Dave on his website; his YouTube channel; and his podcasts The Slashfilmcast and Culturally Relevant. Dave was photographed by Brandon Hill.

#letterboxd #how i letterboxd #dave chen #letterboxd members #letterboxd community #cinephile #film lover

[two-are-the-trees]

31 Days of Poe Day 21: “Morella”

“Morella” is eerily similar to Poe’s other work, “Ligeia,” so much so that for a moment I thought that I was reading the wrong story and had begun reading “Ligeia” again. Despite the likeness between the two stories, however, there is a far more sinister undertone to “Morella,” one that hints less toward one man’s struggle to let go and more toward the sinister power of women to ensnare and enchant men, even when they are gone. 

The narrative focuses on a man who holds a strange fascination for his wife, Morella, though he admits that he is not attracted to her nor in love with her. He enjoys her company and admires her intelligence, but over the course of their marriage he also realizes that some aspects of her personality terrify him, such as her interest in occult studies and her enigmatic gaze. These feelings grow more strongly within him as Morella falls ill and seems to be on her way to her deathbed, making him wish that her death would come more quickly. When she does appear to be succumbing to her illness, Morella makes one final declaration that the narrator WILL love her in death because he did not love her in life, and gives birth to a daughter before finally expiring. The narrator finds no trouble in loving his daughter, however, as she grows up, he begins to notice some increasingly disturbing things about the girl. 

Like “Ligeia,” one of the most fascinating parts of “Morella” is the strange description that Poe provides for the titular character. She is extremely intelligent and mysterious, having a great knowledge of mystical writings. She enchants the narrator with her melodic voice and her deep dark eyes. And yet for all of these alluring aspects, she is also unnerving and strange. The narrator describes the unpleasant feeling of vertigo when looking into Morella’s eyes, like looking into a dark abyss, and when she speaks of the terrible occult, the narrator claims, “joy suddenly faded into horror, and the most beautiful became the most hideous…” Morella’s uncanniness creates a conflict within the narrator as even he is unsure about what he truly feels for her. 

Morella’s daughter is described with a similar uncanniness, made even more intense this time by the fact that the narrator now must deal with another uncanny female presence in his life. The narrator claims that she grew “strangely in stature and intellect” and that her physical and mental maturity progress at a supernatural rate. He notes that she, too, has an undefinable look in her eye and that he loves her, yet he is also somehow terrified by her. Most strangely of all is her resemblance to her mother, not just in her physical appearance, but in her voice, mental faculties, and mannerisms as well. The entire story paints both Morella and her daughter as highly disturbing on some primal level, as though there may be something sinister going on behind their mysterious glances. 

Would I recommend “Morella?” Yes, especially if you enjoyed “Ligeia.” It may seem like it is much too similar, but the overall themes of the works are very different and, in my opinion, “Morella” seems like the next step after “Ligeia”; a much darker and stranger tale that may also have some more cynical interpretations. It’s extremely uncanny and unnerving without being outright scary and the ending is definitely worth it. 

For more analysis (which contains spoilers) please read below the cut! 

So I can’t talk about the ending of “Morella” without also talking about the ending of “Ligeia,” since this is another aspect which these two stories share. After the narrator’s daughter dies, seemingly at the peak of her uncanny resemblance to her mother, the narrator goes to the family tomb to lay her to rest, only to discover that the original Morella is gone. This would imply that, like “Ligeia,” the new woman in the narrator’s life has somehow transformed back into the original woman, like how the narrator’s new wife miraculously became Ligeia after death in “Ligeia.” There are many other points of evidence besides just physical similarity that point to the idea that the original Morella was “born again” in the new Morella. Morella is shown to be interested in occult studies and the idea of a person’s identity and what happens to that identity after death. She also seemingly predicts that she will become the new Morella when she states “I am dying, yet shall I live!” The narrator even notes that his daughter did not even begin to breathe until Morella died, implying that at that moment Morella’s life passed into her daughter. 

The question, though, is, why did this occur? In “Ligeia,” we have a pretty clear idea of what the transfer represents; the narrator is clearly having trouble letting go of the memory of his first wife, and so his desire to have her back manifests in his new wife literally becoming Ligeia. In “Morella,” however, the narrator does not feel the same mourning and pining; in fact, he welcomes Morella’s death and a freedom from her terrifying ways. In my opinion, this indicates that the strange occurrences happening with the narrator’s daughter are entirely Morella’s doing, in an effort to take revenge on the narrator for his lack of love toward her. This is why she claims, as she dies, that he will love her in death as he did not love her in life. 

Morella is correct in her predictions; the narrator does love his daughter, but he is forced every day to reckon with her growing similarities to her mother. This is why I think this is a revenge plot on the part of Morella; the narrator is constantly torn between his affection for his daughter and his growing disturbance at being constantly reminded of the Morella that he buried. Even when he attempts to think of a proper name for his daughter, he is compelled to choose the name Morella, even though it chills him in his very soul to do so. In fact, it drives him mad and he can think only of Morella while the rest of his life grows dark.

The very ultimate part of this revenge is the eventual death of the new Morella, as the narrator must now undergo the trauma of losing his daughter and experiencing what he didn’t experience when the first Morella died. He must now suffer the pain of loss and undergo the mourning he neglected. There is an even darker interpretation of this where, in the period of the narrator’s madness when he seems to have blacked out everything in reality, he may have even killed his daughter himself out of a desperation to rid himself of the haunting presence of Morella. I think there is a lot of validity to this and it would be an even more devastating form of punishment for the narrator. Regardless, “Morella” seems to express that some people will do whatever it takes to haunt those who scorn their love, or even that what is not appreciated in life can leave gaping wounds where it is missed in death. 

So, what did y’all think? Why do you think Morella became her own daughter? Is that what happened, or is there something different going on? Is Morella a sinister figure or simply a victim? If you have your own ideas, please comment on this post or send me an ask! You can also use the tag #31daysofpoe to write your own response post!

#31daysofpoe #edgar allan poe #gothic literature #gothic #halloween

[quicksilversquared]

Crash and Burn: Chapter 3: From the Ashes

Everyone in Paris had always assumed that if Hawkmoth were to die, it would be mid-battle with the superheroes, or maybe in a jail cell years down the road, after being defeated. No one expected him to die suddenly in a car crash on a sunny afternoon.

Least of all, his son.

links in the reblog

                                                                 oi staff where’s the page break line

Adrien's day started with a media fuss about the fact that Gabriel Agreste wasn't getting a funeral, just a private burial. Adrien would have ignored it- after all, he had other things to deal with- but one article was suggesting that perhaps Gabriel Agreste had been Hawkmoth and that was why there was no funeral.

Groaning, Adrien rolled his way out of bed and headed downstairs to prepare a media statement saying that the reasoning behind having no funeral was because his father hadn't been a good parent in years, if ever, always putting work before family; that Adrien had been planning on cutting off contact with his father anyway once he was through university and on his own because he didn't need a toxic presence like that in his life; and that despite what the press wanted to believe, the decision to not hold a funeral for his father was entirely based on that. There was no point in him dedicating the time and effort to put together a funeral to celebrate the life of his father when his father had never spared any time for him, and besides, Adrien had exams and the rest of his life to think about.

Either he would come off heartless and cold to the media, or he would make a good chip in his father's reputation. Considering that a number of people already had an inkling about what his father was like- there had been articles commenting about the lack of Gabriel Agreste at Adrien's assorted sporting events before and more than a few reports about how he blew people off and regularly insulted his designers- the claim that father and son hadn't been at all close was hardly coming out of nowhere.

By the time lunch rolled around, new articles had been posted with Adrien's official statement. They all seemed to take the statement at face value, thankfully, and it was a much more relaxed Adrien who slouched down in front of his TV after he finished his lunch. That was one crisis averted, at least for now.

And then Nadia Chamack popped up on the TV screen, announcing that she was going to be interviewing people around the Louvre about their responses to Ladybug and Chat Noir's unwillingness to release Hawkmoth's identity to the police and to the public.

"Oh, not this again," Adrien groaned, muting the TV before pressing his hands to his face. Ladybug had said that it would probably take a bit for the interest to die down, but couldn't they give it a break for even a little while? "I don't really want to listen to a bunch of people talk about how apparently they have the right to screw up my life even more-"

"Kid." Plagg's voice cut Adrien off mid-complaint. When he looked up, his kwami was staring at the TV. "Look."

Adrien looked. Onscreen, Rose and Juleka were talking to Madam Chamack. On a small banner across the bottom of the screen, text read In Favor of Ladybug Keeping Hawkmoth's Secret.

Adrien managed a smile at that. At least there would be a couple people in Madam Chamack's piece that weren't clamoring for the release of Hawkmoth's name. They would be in the minority, surely, but at least they were there. People would have to admit that not everyone in Paris shared the same point of view. It wasn't much, but it was something.

And then the familiar faces kept coming.

Mylène and Ivan made an appearance, apparently out and about in the area for a picnic. Adrien turned the sound on long enough to catch Mylène decrying both the pressure on Ladybug and Chat Noir to change their mind and reporters' attempts to figure it out independently, pointing out that the search would involve harassing people who just suffered a loss in their family no matter how the reporters did it and that was just plain cruel. One dissenter followed them, but they sounded less than certain about their opinion after hearing Mylène's words.

Madam Chamack approached a group of roller skaters next, and Adrien spotted Alix's distinctive spiky pink hair among the skaters as they told the camera that they supported Ladybug and Chat Noir's decision, too. A group of university students told her the same thing, chattering with each other how having the information out could impact the remainder of Hawkmoth's family even though they had been declared innocent, and a flash of familiar teal hair in the back of the group made Adrien do a double-take.

That was Luka among the group. Adrien had thought that his university was on the far side of the city.

The next two passer-byes were strangers, who admitted that they were curious but that they could see everyone else's points about why making Hawkmoth's identity public would be a bad idea. They were followed by Aurore and Mireille- seriously, how were all of these people that Adrien knew just happening to be passing by?- then another dissenting stranger before Jagged Stone, Fang, and Penny all showed up to tell Madam Chamack that they stood by the superheroes' stance, too.

"What on earth," Adrien said, leaning forward with a bit of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Where did Jagged Stone come from? How did he just happen to show up when Madam Chamack was interviewing people? That's so- oh. Of course. Of course she would."

The answer to his question had just appeared on the screen. Madam Chamack had approached Marinette as she headed across the square to join Rose and Juleka in their impromptu picnic, and everything fell into place at once.

Marinette had been talking to a lot of people over the course of the morning and also spending a lot of time tapping at her phone. Adrien had thought at the time that it was a little strange- normally Marinette didn't spend that much time talking to people and she definitely didn't spend that much time on her phone- but he had written it off. As class representative, Marinette was in charge of the end-of-year picnic and could have easily been collecting suggestions for what people wanted to do before exams were on top of them. It was obvious now that that wasn't the case at all. She must have been recruiting people to show up at the Louvre.

As for how Marinette knew about the live interviews in the first place, well- her mom knew Madam Chamack, so Marinette could have overheard when and where they would be taking place. And considering how irritated she had been with Alya earlier with the 'Hawkmoth identity debate', it was just like Marinette to organize as many people as she could to be in the area so that she could control the narrative being presented.

He was being protected by two incredible girls, it seemed. Ladybug stood between Chat Noir and reporters, and Marinette was providing a civilian intervention.

"I like her," Plagg said approvingly, watching as Marinette launched into an impassioned explanation of why she supported Ladybug and Chat Noir's decision, pointing out that Hawkmoth's family had been very brave in going to the superheroes when they could have just hidden the Miraculous and let the akuma attacks come to an unexplained end. "Very clever. Underhanded, maybe, and manipulative, but used for all the right reasons."

On screen, Madam Chamack was looking as though this interview thing wasn't quite going the way that she had planned. She had clearly tried asking Marinette a few follow-up questions and gotten completely flattened by Marinette's thought-out answers, and now she wasn't quite sure what to do.

"So that's the, uh, lycée and university population pretty well covered," Madam Chamack told the camera. "And, uh, a couple adults shared their views as well. Let's approach some of our more seasoned Paris residents! Sir, do you have a moment?"

The camera panned out to show an elderly man lugging a bag of flour across the plaza. He looked irritated at the sight of the camera, muttering something under his breath, but he came over to join Madam Chamack anyway. He seemed oddly familiar, too, and Adrien furrowed his brow, trying to place him. Was he a former akuma, maybe? Perhaps a recent one? For some reason, that didn't seem quite right.

Plagg cackled. "Oh, this one should be good."

"Today's hot news is that Ladybug and Chat Noir refuse to release Hawkmoth's identity to the public now that he has died," Madam Chamack told the man. "The police and the public want to know who Hawkmoth was. What are your thoughts?"

"In my day, people respected the opinion of the experts!" the man said in a half-bellow straight into the microphone that had Adrien scrambling for the remote to turn the volume down. "And Ladybug and Chat Noir are the experts here, because they're the one who know how the Miraculous work and have been the ones fighting all of the akumas." He scowled at the cameras. "All of these petitions and ignoring experts' opinions and acting as though the public's opinion should be the final judgment- that's not how you're supposed to do it!"

The familiar line had Adrien practically choking on his laughter as he finally placed the face with a memory. "Marinette's grandpa! No wonder I remember him! He's a character, that's for sure."

"All this push for scoops and hits and views- that's not how you're supposed to do it!" Roland Dupain continued, slinging his bag of flour over his shoulder so that he could punch his fist into the palm of his opposite hand. Madam Chamack was starting to look like she rather wanted to sink into the pavement. "In my day, we had responsible reporting! News reporters considered the consequences of information going public before smearing it across the headlines! We called this kind of shameless digging and pushing no-good, trashy tabloid reporting!"

Plagg was howling with laughter. "Oh, I love him, too!"

"Ah, thank you," Madam Chamack managed, and Roland Dupain nodded shortly before stomping off back across the plaza. "I think that's all we have time for right now. Uh, there were a lot of interesting and at times unexpected opinions and a lot for Paris to consider. Back to you, Alec!"

Adrien grinned as he shut the TV off, catching sight of a baffled Alec before the screen went dark. "Oh, Marinette is my favorite. I do worry a little bit, though- most of Paris won't notice the theme there, but Alya will, if she watches it. And she might call out the planting people on the scene on the Ladyblog."

Plagg made a face. "That's true, but all it would take is people saying that they were there together for some completely normal reason- like, all of your classmates except skater girl had picnic stuff with them- and Madam Chamack just happened to pick them all to interview because they were easy to approach or something. It's not like they were approaching the reporter lady, she was approaching them. And does Alya know Marinette's grandpa? You only know of him because of when he got akumatized."

"I'll have to ask Marinette." Adrien pushed himself up off of the couch. "But right now, I have homework to do. And I'll get you more cheese."

Plagg cheered, following Adrien at once.

                                                                                            @staff why’d you get rid of page breaks

 Marinette looked rather like the cat that got the cream when Adrien entered the classroom. Alya wasn't there yet, so Adrien sat himself down next to Marinette and grinned at her when she looked up. "Someone had a busy lunch hour."

"Shhh. Don't let anyone hear." Marinette leaned closer to him, though, clearly not at all upset. A small smile was playing at the corners of her lips. "So you saw the interviews?"

"And all of the people you planted? Sneaky, sneaky." Adrien snorted at Marinette's preening grin. "But what if Madam Chamack does more interviews or Alya picks up on the fact that most of those people know you?"

Marinette snorted. "What do you take me for, an amateur? I have backup plants, those weren't all of them. I'm actually surprised that as many of them were picked as there were this time around. And I have an ear in the Kidz Plus studio who can give me a heads-up about what's going on there. If they do another round of interviews, I have the plants that weren't interviewed this time ready for the next round. And there are a lot of them who Alya won't recognize- friends of friends and coworkers of people I know and friends of my parents' and their bakery staff. And Alya doesn't know my grandpa. He was the last person that Madam Chamack interviewed, by the way. I don't know think you've met him, either."

Adrien grinned at the memory. "How did you persuade him to come out and do that, by the way? Wasn't he that old-timey akuma that didn't like new stuff?"

The giggle that Marinette let out was absolutely adorable. It was also a little devious. Actually, scratch that, a lot bit devious. "Oh, it wasn't hard. I just had to agree to go bake with him this summer and learn how to make some of our bakery's items the old-fashioned way. He's been dying to get the chance to teach me. It's not that I didn't want to before, but I just haven't had the time during the school year."

Adrien could relate to that. Still, he couldn't resist the urge to tease Marinette, just a little bit. "Should I be concerned about how good you are at this whole deception thing?"

"I only use my powers for good, I promise!" Marinette grinned at him. "Would you like to join me for the baking lessons? I know you've enjoyed watching my dad make stuff."

Adrien perked up immediately. Learning how to do Dupain-Cheng- or, he supposed, just Dupain- baking? Yes, please! "Ooh, yeah, I'd love to!"

Even though most of the interviewees had been planted, it seemed like the general attitude at school was more split now than it had been before. People had heard normal civilians like themselves admitting that their curiosity about Hawkmoth's identity wasn't worth destroying Hawkmoth's family's relationships and job prospects by creating a bias about them, and they were actually starting to listen.

There were still dissenters, though. And it didn't help that the Ladyblog was one of them. Alya had moved on to claiming censorship, which was actually ridiculous and was very much not likely to help her secure a reporter job in the future.

(Adrien had to wonder how many articles on the Ladyblog were going to end up getting edited or deleted entirely as Alya went through her journalism program in university and she realized that they were in bad taste or weren't good examples of reporting. He had noticed that Lila's video and the subsequent article follow-ups had quietly vanished as soon as Lila's lies came to light, and there were a couple earlier articles that had been edited to sound a little more professional and not so fangirl-y. Some of her earlier mistakes could be written off as inexperience and excitement, but the later ones?

Alya should have known better by now.)

It didn't escape Adrien's notice that Marinette was talking about literally anything other than Hawkmoth as they went through their afternoon classes. She told him about her parents' plans for trying to make some new treats for the summer, and about some of the designs that she was working on, and mentioned some of her own plans for summer break. It was surprisingly normal conversation, especially considering that Adrien had kind of expected that she would be fired up from her success with the interviews and eager to talk about the planning that had gone into them, and he had to wonder why.

Was it because Hawkmoth's death was sudden and recent and Mr. Agreste's death had been the same, so she didn't want to inadvertently poke at any sore spots? Did she suspect who Hawkmoth had been? Maybe it was just because she picked up on the fact that he needed something normal right now.

Or maybe it was because of the fight that Marinette had gotten with Alya over Hawkmoth's identity and she was sick of the topic. According to Nino, the two girls still weren't on speaking terms by the end of the school day.

"Alya's actually even more ticked off now, because she thinks that Marinette set up a bunch of those interviews near the Louvre," Nino told him after school, once both Marinette and Alya had gone their separate ways. "And she confronted Mylène and Rose about it, but they said that they just happened to be in the area with their picnic and Marinette got invited last-minute, which is why Alya hadn't been told. Which is still kinda strange- like, how likely is it that they would go to the Louvre for a picnic? And Alix was there, too- but I guess it's possible?"

Adrien tried not to laugh. Marinette's team clearly had their excuses lined up. "I guess. And it's not like it's a bad location."

Nino made a face. "It's crazy busy there, though. I'd much rather just go to a park. And it's also weird- like, I know that Alix was super-curious about Hawkmoth's identity before, and the rest of them were, too. I mean, they weren't so intense about it that they would join the people following Ladybug and Chat Noir around to yell at them about it or anything, but they weren't exactly supporters of Ladybug and Chat Noir not telling Paris until Marinette got to them."

Adrien could only shrug. "Well, Marinette made good points. She's persuasive."

"Oh, not you, too!" Nino exclaimed. "I think that people are exaggerating the potential effects on Hawkmoth's family, if they actually didn't know about him before. It couldn't possibly be that bad."

"See, that right there is why it would be bad," Adrien shot back, pointing at Nino. "People assuming that his family actually did know. Ladybug and Chat Noir said that they didn't, so why don't people trust that?"

"Uh, maybe because Ladybug and Chat Noir are two teenagers, not trained professionals, and people lie?" Nino suggested. "And the police are trained to pick up on lies, so they should be the ones doing the interviewing. Not Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are just trained to fight akumas."

Oh, for... "Didn't Chloe once say something about a little creature giving her her powers as Queen Bee?" Adrien pointed out, remembering one of Chloe's superhero vlogs. It had been super annoying at the time to have her sharing Miraculous secrets with the world, but now? It was positively useful. "Isn't it likely that Ladybug and Chat Noir interviewed Hawkmoth's little creature? Like, if I were in their shoes, that would be the first thing that I would do."

Nino paused, mouth half-open as he struggled to find an argument. After several seconds, he frowned, his mouth closing fully. "...huh. I guess, yeah." He groaned. "There goes the last of Alya's decent justifications for them needing to share Hawkmoth's identity."

Adrien didn't say anything to that. It sounded like Nino was still on Alya's side, even though he didn't have a good reason, and that was frustrating.

"Dunno if I'm going to say that, though," Nino added, running one hand over his hair. "She's already not super-happy about so many of our classmates changing their minds, and I'd like to actually finish the year with a girlfriend, thanks. And I can't deny that I'd really like to know, too."

"Right," Adrien managed, feeling more disappointed than he was willing to let on. He had been hoping that his friends wouldn't be in a fight right now because the timing was obviously less than ideal, but clearly no one was going to budge on their position. Not that he wanted Marinette to budge, because obviously she was right, but Nino and Alya? Couldn't they see that they were wrong?

He didn't know who he was kidding. Alya could be stubborn as a mule. She wasn't going to change her mind.

At least he had Marinette, Adrien thought as Nino bid him good-bye and headed off. Even if Alya got angry at him about the Hawkmoth thing, he wouldn't be the odd one out in the classroom.

                                                                                           @staff let me tag you you cowards

 He got a message from Ladybug after school on Friday that she wanted to meet up at midnight. Adrien groaned- that was late- but he couldn't deny that the late time made sense. Despite the fact that Marinette's interview plants were helping change some people's opinions about finding out Hawkmoth's identity- clearly she had ears in more than just the Kids Plus studio, because several of the main TV stations had done the interviews and come up with similar results- he and Ladybug still hadn't been able to go out and about without people bugging them, yelling after them as they ran across the rooftops. The portion of the population that still wasn't agreeing with their decision was very vocal about it. The only way that they could was by going out so late that people wouldn't be able to see them. Still- midnight?

Even though it was nearly summer and days were longer than ever, that seemed late. Maybe she was just being extra-careful because of recent events.

Chat Noir didn't know what to expect when he met up with Ladybug on top of an abandoned warehouse, one that was large enough that no one would be able to see them from the street. Maybe she just wanted to check in on him, but they couldn't exactly spend a lot of time hanging out with it so late. Even though it was the weekend, he couldn't just screw up his sleeping schedule by staying up long past his usual bedtime. He had studying to take into account, and he had his normal activities still to consider.

His stomach dropped when he spotted the nervous look on Ladybug's face as he approached her. In a flash, he started thinking of what that might mean. Had the police or the mayor made some sort of order that they had to comply with? Had Master Fu told her that they had to share Hawkmoth's identity with Paris? Was there something wrong with the Miraculous? Had Nooroo revealed that another household member had been working with Hawkmoth, or maybe he had reconsidered Nathalie's culpability?

"You look like you're about to panic," Ladybug commented, nerves vanishing into a frown as he joined her. "Did something happen?"

Just like that, the rising terror vanished. "I- no? It just- it looked like you had bad news to share, maybe, and I just- I was trying to think of what it might be, and-"

"Oh! Oh, no, nothing bad," Ladybug assured him hastily, reaching out to take his hands. "Just- something I was nervous about. I was talking to Master Fu today, and he suggested that we be less visible for a bit, because we keep getting harassed whenever we go out and people aren't going to forget about Hawkmoth and move on if they're seeing us every day."

Chat Noir's stomach dropped. Out of all of the possibilities that he had thought up, the possibility of losing Ladybug as his support system hadn't been one of them. Of course, they could still transform and talk via their communicators, or meet up late at night so that no one would see them- it would be summer soon, he could stay up then- but it wouldn't be the same. He- he needed Ladybug. She knew everything that he was going through, and could help him more than anyone else could, and, and-

"And I didn't want to have to stop seeing you," Ladybug continued, and suddenly he could breathe again. "I know- I know that you haven't told anyone in your civilian life about everything, and that it's good for you to be able to talk about it if you want to, and you're probably not getting enough hugs, and I would miss you too, obviously, and-"

Chat Noir couldn't help but grin. Ladybug was babbling, which meant that she was nervous about something but not something bad. He knew her well enough by now to know that if it were bad, her words would be punctuated by long silences and nervous lip-biting. "Uh-oh. Here comes the word vomit."

"-it's not fair that- hey! It's not- I'm not-"

Ladybug spluttered as Chat Noir laughed. "You are babbling. I'm not going to bite, my Lady. You can spit it out."

Ladybug let out a huff, her tensed shoulders finally relaxing. "Ugh. Okay. Fine. So anyway, I didn't want you to lose any support or not be able to talk, so I got- I got permission from Tikki and Master Fu to reveal my identity to you so that we can still see each other. I don't want you to feel any pressure to reveal your identity," she added hastily as Chat Noir's jaw fell open. "Like, if you want to come over to my house in a trench coat and sunglasses and a hat to hide your costume, that's fine. But I want you to know where to find me if you want to talk about anything, or just hang out, or- or anything, really."

Chat Noir nodded, swallowing. He hadn't been expecting a reveal tonight, but this- he had been hoping to learn Ladybug's identity for a while now, but he had all but given up hope that it would happen any time soon. "O-okay."

"I'm just a bit nervous about it," Ladybug admitted, giving herself a little shake. "Give me a minute."

"It's just me, my Lady," Chat Noir reminded her, stepping forward to give her a quick hug. "Nothing to be nervous about here."

"I know, it's just- no one besides Master Fu and my kwami knows my identity, and I'm not used to transforming in front of people." Ladybug squared her shoulders, then closed her eyes. "Okay. Tikki, spots off!"

Chat Noir shielded his eyes as a pink flash lit up the rooftop. As soon as it faded, he lowered his arm and then a grin split his face.

"Oh, of course you're Ladybug," Chat Noir chuckled, reached forward to scoop his detransformed partner up into a hug. "Of course you are. Who else could it be? You're perfect."

Marinette's cheeks flushed pink in the moonlight. "I- I'm-"

"I saw you on TV, working to persuade people not to dig about Hawkmoth's identity," Chat Noir told her, burying his face in her hair for a long moment. Of course Marinette was Ladybug. She had been protecting him in and out of the mask, throwing absolutely all of her energy into it and going above and beyond to keep him safe. "And I heard rumor that you were in charge of organizing to have people who support us in the area to get interviewed for TV."

"Lies and slander," Marinette said primly, sticking her nose up in the air. She gave up the charade after a second. "I had help from Pollen and Trixx and Wayzz. They staked out at the main TV stations and let Tikki know if they heard anything about interviews, and then I sent out mass emails to my contacts with the where and when and which station, so people knew what to look for."

Chat Noir grinned. That was his Ladybug, always the planner.

"You know where I live, right?" Marinette asked, snuggling back into his hug. Her arms twined around his waist. "If you want to come at night, you can just come in via the balcony. I can hide a key for you up there. And I could give you my phone number, too, so I can know if you're coming over. Or Plagg could probably look it up, too, on your communicator."

"Right," Chat Noir agreed happily, instead of telling her that he already had her number. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he wanted his secret for just a little bit longer. He hadn't come to their meeting expecting to reveal his identity, and he just wanted a little time for the idea to sink in. "I know where you are. I've visited you before, princess."

"Of course you have. Your kitty nose came sniffing around for treats." Marinette grinned up at him, and how had he not made the connection before? That look was pure Ladybug. "Now you can come 'round for the treats and the company."

"I came for the company before, too!" Chat Noir protested, knowing full well that she was kidding. Marinette knew that he enjoyed her company. "And to be your model, too, on more than one occasion."

Marinette giggled again, squeezing him in a hug, and the two of them ended up sinking down to sit on the rooftop together. Chat Noir pulled Marinette into his lap- after all, his suit protected him from the cold, rough rooftop and she wasn't transformed- and the two of them spent nearly an hour there on the rooftop, talking and just hanging out before finally deciding that they had to go home.

Chat Noir was practically bubbling with happy energy as he headed home, slipping through the window back into his room. Detransforming, he spun around the room before flopping down on his bed. "Ladybug is Marinette!"

"Surprise," Plagg drawled, landing next to him. "No wonder she was willing to get into a fight with Alya over the whole Hawkmoth identity thing."

"Right, because she personally knows me." Adrien rolled over to look at Plagg as a thought hit him. While most of Paris had only found out about Hawkmoth's death several days after Mr. Agreste died, Ladybug- Marinette- had learned about it less than 36 hours later, and knew for a fact that she had found out about it within that timeframe because they had just met up the day before everything happened. "Plagg- she knows that Chat Noir lost his father at the same time as Adrien did. There- there's no way that she doesn't suspect that I'm Chat Noir, is there?"

Plagg snorted. "Yeah, I bet she has her suspicions already. There were too many similarities there for Ladybug to ignore. But I'll also bet that she's been doing her best to ignore them until you decide to reveal yourself, so you can at least feel like you're in control of that information."

Adrien could only grin helplessly, still over the moon about- about everything. Marinette was so thoughtful, and kind, and gorgeous, and of course she was Ladybug. How did he get so lucky?

Even with as late as it was, it took him a while to settle down enough to fall asleep, too caught up in thoughts about Ladybug. Once he finally did drop off, Adrien slept well for the first time since his father's death, dreaming about ladybugs and going on a picnic in the park with Marinette at his side. He woke up late, rolling out of bed with a smile and a leisurely stretch, one goal in mind.

"I think I'm going to go over to Marinette's house today," Adrien told Plagg as he got ready for the day. "I just- how could I possibly stay away?"

Plagg considered him. "Are you going over as Adrien or as Chat Noir?"

Adrien just smiled, checking his reflection in the bathroom mirror before heading out into his room. "I'm both, aren't I?"

"That's not an answer!"

Half an hour later, with breakfast eaten and his school things packed up in his bag so that they could at least pretend to study, Adrien headed out the door with a wave to the Gorilla. He headed through the streets on the familiar route to Marinette's house, going around the park instead of through, avoiding all of the families hanging out and enjoying the sunlight. Lazing in the sun sounded fun, of course, but he had a bit of a different place to relax and enjoy the sun in mind, up on top of a certain bakery with a lovely dark-haired girl by his side. It didn't take long to reach the bakery, and Mrs. Cheng let him in at once. With a fresh croissant in hand, Adrien headed upstairs, excitement replacing the last bits of lingering anxiety with every step.

They were Ladybug and Chat Noir. They had closed one chapter of their life now with Hawkmoth's death, and now they could move forward together. Maybe there would be bumps in their road and times when things got tough, but they could handle anything together.

With a smile on his face, Adrien rounded the last set of stairs and came face-to-face with the door. With one last deep breath, Adrien moved Plagg to his shoulder, raised his hand-

And knocked.

Fin.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #crash and burn #adrien agreste

[sun-summoning]

#11 Guardian - Marinette, Chat Noir

In the aftermath of Hawkmoth’s defeat, Ladybug requests that Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Queen Bee return their miraculous to her. Without an active threat, she explains, there’s no need for any active heroes. And by trying to keep their miraculous active, they would be putting Paris at risk of a new villain taking Hawkmoth’s place. Naturally, Rena Rouge tries to argue with her, bringing up other problems like robberies and violence, but Ladybug reminds her of the authorities that are meant for those purposes and holds her hand open. 

They’re all sad about it, but they have this experience to share with each other. Maybe they’re not all the best of friends in their everyday lives, but Ladybug knows they were never as careful with their identities, so at least they’ll be able to support each other from there.

Rena Rouge tries once more to get her own name, but Ladybug shakes her head, tells her that it doesn’t matter anymore, and gives her goodbye.

She supposes she could have ended the image of Ladybug to some of her most devoted fans on a better note. This chapter of her life is over though, and what the world thinks of Ladybug now that they don’t need to think of Hawkmoth doesn’t really matter to her. He and Mayura have been taken away by the proper magical authorities and when his existence fades to nothing, Marinette wants Ladybug’s to as well. 

The best thing she can do as a future guardian, in her opinion, is not draw any further attention to these items.

This doesn’t just affect her though, so she heads out into the night to find Chat Noir and talk this through. After all, he is still her partner and she would never try to take his ring from him.

She likes to think he’ll be amenable to returning the miraculous until it’s needed once again. He could still have access to it and to his kwami just as Master Fu and Wayzz assured her that she could visit Tikki. And while the separation might hurt, she likes to hope that perhaps having a permanent friend in Marinette Dupain-Cheng might make things a bit better.

When she does find him perched above Notre Dame, he looks so sullen that Marinette thinks she’d do anything to make him smile. She hasn’t seen him since Hawkmoth’s identity was revealed to the two of them and then taken away last night. Chat Noir had been acting strangely since then.

“Hey kitty,” she says, landing loudly to announce her presence.

Chat Noir barely reacts. He smiles a little, but it looks hollow at best. “I heard you’re going around collecting everyone’s miraculous.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to take yours, silly. Well, not permanently.”

That doesn’t seem to brighten his mood. Instead, Chat Noir turns away. “Maybe you should.”

“What?”

He grimaces, pain in his eyes and on his face. “My lady--I--” Chat Noir looks down. “Hawkmoth...Mayura--” 

He runs a hand through his hair as he thinks back to the events of last night when the two of them were the only ones left in the battle against Hawkmoth and his partner, against Gabriel Agreste and his newly revived wife.

“I know them.”

“Oh.” Ladybug comes forward, one hand grabbing his and the other holding his cheek. He barely grips her back and it’s a struggle to catch his gaze. If he knows them, then Ladybug can’t even imagine how much their battle last night must have pained him inside. “They can’t hurt you now, kitty. I promise.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I don’t think I can be Chat Noir anymore, Ladybug.”

“That’s okay.” Ladybug smiles at him when he finally looks at her. “Because I don’t plan on staying Ladybug.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ladybug appeared when Hawkmoth did. I don’t see why she’ll be needed when he’s gone.” Her smile wavers. “And besides, I’m...I’m supposed to replace Master Fu now. Apparently I’m supposed to guard the miraculous and well, frankly, I’m terrified.”

Her confession seems to make things worse. Chat Noir pulls away from her. “Then that’s even more of a reason that I should stay away.”

“Chat Noir--”

“No.” He steps back but she still follows. “They know who I am, Ladybug.”

“But--”

“You can’t be a guardian and keep me around.” He shakes his head. “I’d be a liability.” Chat Noir laughs bitterly. “I’ve always been a liability. How could I have never noticed?”

“Knowing Hawkmoth or Mayura means nothing,” Ladybug insists. 

“I should have known it was them.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He takes a deep breath. “You have the fox and the bee and the turtle already.” His fingers dance along the ring he’s kept close to him for years. “I think it’s time you take this as well and keep far away from me.”

“No.”

“Ladybug--”

“No!” Ladybug shakes her head, reaching for him until she finally holds him. He’s tense under her touch, but Ladybug maintains her grip. “Please,” she begs. “Not you. Not yet. I don’t care if they know who you are. They can’t hurt us anymore. We did it, Chat Noir. They’re gone--”

“I know,” he snaps back. “I know they’re gone. I am well aware that they are gone.”

She takes a breath. He does too and doesn’t say anything further. She waits because he’s hurting and if he’s hurting then she wants to fix it for him. Logically, it’s his relationship with their enemies that’s hurting him. But how? Why? Ladybug aches to help him and when he still doesn’t explain, she indulges herself with a moment of selfishness.

“Please, I…I need you,” she tells him. “I don’t...I don’t know how you know Gabriel Agreste and why this bothers you so much--” She doesn’t miss the way he flinches, “--but I don’t know how to be a guardian and...and I know that if I have you, then I can figure it out. So please—please don’t leave me. I know I’m being selfish right now. I’m so sorry. But please, kitty, don’t go.”

“My lady--”

“It’s Marinette,” she blurts out. “My name is Marinette.” She blushes, realizing that she’s just blurted out the secret she’s been keeping for years. “I—sorry.”

He swallows. Then he nods gingerly. “No, it’s...it’s fine.”

“There’s no more Hawkmoth anymore, okay? He can’t hurt you. We have his miraculous and I would never let him. I promise you, kitty, it’s over now.”

Chat Noir huffs, wry and sad, like he’s sharing a private joke with himself.

“We can…we can share now,” Ladybug tries. He’s wanted to know for years. Maybe this would cheer him up. This has to cheer him up. “My name is Marinette.” He says nothing, making her falter. “And you...you’re Chat Noir. You’re my partner. Always.” 

She reaches out to him and is pleased when he doesn’t pull away. 

“So please don’t leave me. I need you. And I think...” She considers the sullen slump of his shoulders, the light drained away from his eyes. “I think you need me too right now.”

Chat Noir snorts. “I always need you, Ladybug.”

“Then stay with me.” Ladybug knows that she can save him from whatever Gabriel Agreste might have done to him and that he can guide her to be the best guardian she can be. She squeezes his hands and when he returns the gesture, she meets his eyes.

Chat Noir gazes down at her softly. “I can’t support you, Ladybug.”

“Marinette,” she corrects.

“Right.” He swallows. “Marinette.”

He begins to pull away and Ladybug panics as she follows his steps. “Please--”

“I can’t support you, Marinette,” he interrupts. “Not if you’re truly going to guard the miraculous. Not as Chat Noir.” 

He pulls off the ring he insists he no longer deserves and when the green light fades, Adrien Agreste smiles at her. The sadness lingers in his eyes, and now Ladybug knows why. She wraps her arms around him as tight as she can and holds his weight knowing he’ll always do the same for her.

“But maybe I can stay with you like this.”

#fic

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 12

Summary: in which a couple of inches are gained on either side. And also some funds

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 3,762

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

*

Chapter 12: A Soft Answer

The room is quiet aside from the slow, sleep-steady cadence of Loki’s breathing, and a curious clicking noise that has begun to emanate from one side of the room. In the faint orange glow of the one lamp you’ve left on, you can see a set of pipes just under the window which seems to be the source of the sound.

It’s that noise that woke you, perhaps. The sun is down now, and you’ve missed dinner, but you needed the sleep. Loki shifts, and his bed creaks as he turns over. You both needed the sleep. A quick glance at the strange clock with the glowing red numbers on its rectangular face reveals that it’s still early in the night, barely even evening, yet the sky behind the pale pink curtains is black as full night. Perhaps Midgard has shorter days than Asgard. The realm also seems to be less bright overall.

The clicking continues and you face it, squinting at the metal pipes. What do they do? What’s so important that they interrupt your sleep? Not that you mind terribly. Even the few short hours you had slept had done wonders, and after the food, and that interesting but very lovely bath with the water falling down on you from above, like warm, sweet rain, you’re feeling very cozy and refreshed.

You swing carefully out of the bed and shuffle across the rug to peer at the pipes. The room is warmer, much warmer, over here, and as you hold out a hand, you can tell that this is the source of the heat. You tip your head, looking at it. That’s... neat. Iron and... steam, possibly? That’s certainly a very creative way to heat a room, and along with some of the other fascinating bits of Midgardian engineering you’ve seen so far, you can guess that the Midgard people are quite bright, and impressive in their own way.

Steam...

That gives you an idea. The iron pipes are hot, hot enough to radiate throughout the room into even the chilliest corners. They’ve also got to be hot enough to, say, dry clothing after it has been washed?

With that in mind, you make your way, quietly as you can, to the washroom and gather up the pile of dirty clothing. Most of it is dry by now, so you shake off the crusted mud, brushing at the clinging pine needles and bracken, and rinse out the tub of the mess. Then you fiddle with the stopper and set to filling the basin with warm water, adding in a drop or two of the liquid soap in a colorful bottle, which smells a bit like clover and warm grass. The water foams and you set your tunic and leggings in to soak, and Loki’s tunic as well. His breeches have large sections of leather on them, so you grab a cloth, wet it and wring it out, and wipe at the leather until it’s smooth and shiny again, and gently dab the dirt off the fabric portions.

You do the same with his boots, but when it comes to your own shoes, those horrible, painful slippers, you pause. You’d rather not have to put them on ever again. Just thinking about it makes your ankles twinge in protest. But you’re sort of starved for opinions, so you rinse them as well and hope the water loosens them and softens them up. Then you squeeze the excess water from the tunics and your leggings until they’re just damp, and you drain the tub of the now brackish water. You set everything out to dry by the heater, with a towel laid out underneath, and as you tiptoe your way back to your bed, exhaustion creeping back in, you catch a glimpse of Loki in the dim light, still sound asleep. He’s sprawled out on top of the covers in a way that seems uncomfortable, propped on his side with a pillow cushioning his ribs. The front of his robe is pushed open, and you can see the slope of his chest, his shallow breathing, the line of the wrapped bandage. You look away and swallow. Suddenly, your ankles don’t seem so bad.

***

In the morning, you find that the clothes are dry and still toasty warm to the touch, even though the heater has stopped its clicking. Loki stirs, and you toss him his clothing.

“You... washed these?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

And truly, you think, he must have slept really well if he’s asking such a stupid question. But you suppose what he really meant was-

“Why?”

“Because they were dirty, and we don’t have much else to wear.”

And he might not be bothered by traipsing about in nothing but the robe — or maybe he would be, come to think of it — but you certainly feel much more comfortable dressed in something that comes down past your knees and doesn’t cling uncomfortably in all the wrong places.

“No, I meant-“ Loki blinks at you. His hair is a mess. “Never mind.” He picks up the bundle of his tunic and pants and hold them to his chest as he stands. “I’ll just go get dressed in the bathroom. You can change in here, or wait until I’m finished, whichever you’d prefer,” he says, making his way toward the door.

“Yes, your highness,” you mumble, in a moment of temerity letting it come out more facetious than respectful.

Loki pauses with a slight frown and you brace yourself, but he says nothing, and just steps into the washroom and closes the door behind him.

You do change in the bedroom, because it’s private enough, and you know Loki’s going to take longer than you, with his buttons and hurt ribs slowing him down. And, you think, amused, he’ll have his work cut out for him fixing that hair. He, unlike you, had not thought to put it in a braid before sleeping, and it had dried every which way as he slept. Your hair is perhaps a bit frizzier than normal, but the tresses are relatively neat and wavy. Even so, you slide on your leggings under the robe, and turn your back to the door as you let it drop and throw on your tunic.

When Loki emerges some minutes later, his face is freshly washed and dewy, and his hair is, miraculously, tamed, and pulled back sleekly into a tail.

“Your hair looks nice,” you say, and you give him a half smile as an apology for your earlier fit of impertinence. And because, well, it does look good. Really good, actually, if you’re being honest.

Loki jerks his head up, and you fight a blush. That frown is back, but it seems more confused than anything. Eventually, he nods, and on anyone else, it might almost have seemed awkward.

“Yours does as well,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes, and then he turns toward the door to the hallway. “It’s almost time for breakfast. Are you coming?” he calls over his shoulder.

And you take it back, because that definitely was awkward.

***

Breakfast is a chatty affair, with several of the other travelers all gathered around a big oak table set with embroidered placemats and napkins in buttery yellow with white dots all over and piled high with all manner of breads, baked pastries, fruits, eggs, porridge, sliced meats and cheeses, and spreads. There’s even a pot of what you’re pretty sure is soup, and several varieties of juices, teas, and some bitter smelling Midgardian drink labeled Colombian Brew.

You serve yourself some of the porridge, which looks so much like what your mother would make that you can’t help but crave a bit of home, even when there’s all this new and exciting food around, and top it with blueberries and a touch of honey. You look around, hoping to find some more cider, but there doesn’t seem to be any, although there’s an orange-colored beverage that’s sweet and tart and pleasing all the same.

You take the seat next to Loki, because he’s at least a familiar face. He scoots his chair over a bit to give you room. Or to get away from you, but he was the one pretending that you and he were lovers or something, so he should have thought that one through. He sips at a mug of the Colombian brew like he hasn’t a care in the world, though, and you can’t tell if he’s pretending or not. But of course he would go for the bitterest drink there. It’s fitting.

You take a bite of your porridge and oh. Wow. You didn’t know porridge could be this good. Familiar, comforting, homey, yes, but this porridge is creamy and rich and has a wonderful sweetness to it that not even your mother’s cooking can compare to. Well, when you pay with jewels...

As you savor your breakfast, your thoughts turn to the previous night. It hadn’t at all been what you were expecting. It was surprisingly peaceable, although far from peaceful, with quiet conversation and shared disquiet. Loki, for all his faults, does seem willing to work along side you, and not against you, at least in this. It’s... well, maybe not quite reassuring, because at this stage, nothing short of a way home would be, but it’s something, and it’s one less thing you have to be anxious about. At least... at least Loki is smart.

A heavyset man with a friendly smile sits across from you and Loki and introduces himself as Brian.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

Loki swallows his mouthful of seasoned... potatoes, you’re pretty sure, and primly wipes his mouth before answering.

“I’m Loki, of Asgard,” he says, eyebrows drawn together and looking very serious.

Brian nods easily.

“You’re headed for the Renaissance faire, then? I didn’t realize there was one in town. Or- I know! You’re doing that, oh what is it the kids called it. Cosplaying, I think it was,” he says all at once, the speed and unfamiliarity of half the words leaving you a bit dizzy. Fortunately, Brain doesn’t seem to need a response, just continues talking. “And who might you be, my lady?”

You introduce yourself, and Brain beams at you. Loki shovels more food in his mouth, eyeing him warily. You’re pretty sure he’s doing it more to avoid conversation than because he’s just that hungry. You decide you like Brian, and smile back, striking up an impersonal but pleasant conversation between bites of food.

Somewhere along the line, Loki’s arm finds its way along the back of your chair, resting casually, and you must have been more invested in what Brain was saying — even though you can’t understand a majority of it — than you’d thought, because you hadn’t noticed him move. But, you find it doesn’t bother you as much as you might have thought it would. He’s finished eating, and is sitting back watching you talk and occasionally lifting his mug to his lips. When your eyes meet, he lifts a sleek brow at you and you smile sheepishly.

“It was nice meeting you, Brian” you say politely, and offer him your hand as you make your excuses to leave. He bows over it grandly, and raises it to his lips with a flourish, an overdone but sincere imitation of a prince or lord. And really, it is rather charming.

“The pleasure’s all mine, my lady.”

“Are you ready?” You turn to Loki, still with a slight grin on your face. He nods, but frowns, and you let the smile fall, mystified. Is he mad at you, or not?

Loki stands and lets his arm remain on your shoulders until you’re back up the stairs, out of sight. You’re not really sure what to think, other than that you prefer the warm weight of it to his cold indifference or outright acrimony.

***

Loki frowns for what feels like the hundredth time that morning, yet still, he remains confused. In-Hvassa seems in a much better mood since... since some time last night. Is she just making that much of an effort to keep the amity, or... Then again, he had all but told her to show deference. He hadn’t expected her to actually comply, especially not to the degree she had. He would not have asked her to do his laundry. She is... not relaxed, exactly, but far less dicey, less short-tempered. And she had been. Since he’d been nearly polite to her. And that... that makes the least sense of all.

It is tremulous, that is true, not a real show of trust, but she is... giving him the benefit of the doubt, and he isn’t sure what to make of it. She shouldn’t. And not because he doesn’t deserve it, even though he knows he doesn’t, but because it wasn’t good enough reason to. A few words spoken without rancor should not change much of anything, except to avert a worsening of their predicament. But she had smiled at him, or nearly so, and he had... well, he'd liked it and felt guilty in equal measure. He never had been very good at apologizing.

In the bedroom, he slides on his boots — also brushed free of dirt — and gathers his knife from its spot on the bedside table. The place where the emerald had been is conspicuous and jarringly empty under his thumb as he runs it over the center of the handle. It looks, wrong, and Loki feels a pang if loss at it. It’s stupid. It’s just one little gem, and Loki likes this knife, yes, but he has — or had — countless others. Valuable, but not too much to part with, not superficially. But he can’t help but feel like some part of his life has been chipped away and left behind here on this quiet, lonely little planet. Certainly, he feels a bit empty, too.

Thor had been right. It wasn’t a thought Loki was used to having, but his brother had spoken truly. He should have gone with him, with their friends when he could have. Now he doesn’t know when he’ll next have a chance to waste a day in good spirits and company, with no goal in mind but the uncomplicated joy of it. Not when things have gotten so complicated, so quickly, not when he’s still unable to access his magic, not when Heimdall still can’t see him. He’d tried, again, and again. But his ribs still hurt and there was still no answer and they were still stuck for the foreseeable future. Loki doesn’t like not knowing what to do at the best of times, and this does not qualify as one of those times.

“There’s a dress shop the next door over, and I’m sure there are more like it in the central square,” Loki says, still pathetically unable to look away from the hole in his dagger. “We’re drawing too much attention to ourselves dressed as we are, like Asgardians.” Honestly, Loki isn’t sure what precisely is meant by Renaissance faire, but it certainly has a ring of mockery to it, like a game of pretend. “It would be in our best interest to rectify the situation.” Carefully, it is not phrased as an order of any kind.

“Do you intend to pay with that? Or did you have something else in mind?”

Loki lets a grin fill his face as he flips the dagger around to tuck it away out of sight. He turns to face her.

“I have a plan.”

***

Whatever Loki’s plan was, it involved meandering about the courtyard between shops, among a sprinkling of other people about their business, strolling the cobblestone walkways or sitting on benches beneath trees in gradient shades of green, orange, and gold. The air is chilly, and you wish you had one of those knitted scarves like some of the pedestrians are wearing to wrap around your neck, or maybe a pair of gloves. Loki seems unbothered by it, the breeze doing scarcely more than ruffle the ends of his tied hair behind his head.

He’s watching for something, casting his eyes around with an intent look on his face. He looks like some kind of guardian, or a statue, silent and vigilant and still, save for those flickering green eyes and the dark hair trailing in the wind. And then he stiffens. Whatever he was looking for, he has found, and you follow his gaze, figuring it would be more helpful than staring at him. Still, you can’t find the point of his focus, and you’ve no idea what to be looking for in the first place.

Loki moves nearer to you, and leans down a bit to speak close to your ear.

“That man with the red hat and long grey coat. By the tree there.“ He cants his chin to indicate the direction. “Do you see him?” he says lowly. You can feel the movement of his breath as he speaks, a warm contrast to the cold air.

You nod, then realize Loki might not see it.

“Yes. What about him?”

“I need you to go talk to him.”

“What?” you ask, puzzled. “Why would I- oh. No. No! You don’t mean to-“ You jerk your head toward him and the truth is right there on his face, unhidden and unmissable. “You do.”

Really, it’s not that much of a surprise, or it shouldn’t have been. You should have known that smirk had meant nothing but trouble. But you are surprised, or horrified, or something, because the blood is loud in your ears just now, and, and stealing is wrong.

Loki, of course, is unrepentant.

“Unless you’d like to kindly ask him to give you his money, we don’t have many other options.”

“You still have the dagger, and the-“

“And how many times would you guess that we’d be able to successfully pull that trick? Not everyone will be so willing to accept that it is a real stone, not everyone will accept payment that isn’t the currency they expect.”

You take a step back from the quarrel and press your lips together. Loki is right, but you don’t like it. Maybe if he was as reluctant as you are, this would be easier. Maybe if he didn’t seem so eager about it. But it is Loki, and he seems to delight in misbehaving every bit as much as Búrakki, the scamp. And here you’ll be, following him down into mischief.

“What am I even supposed to say to him?”

Loki blinks, perhaps not expecting you to agree so easily. Perhaps you shouldn’t have.

“Anything. It doesn’t matter. Ask him for directions or talk about the weather. Just distract him for a moment.”

You nod shakily, and walk toward the man, trying to make it seem like coincidence, not at all intentional. Loki must be somewhere nearby, but you can’t hear him move, and you’re not sure if that’s a relief or if it just makes you that much more nervous. Because you are nervous. Very nervous. So nervous you want to call it off, to back out, to tell Loki to figure out how to do it himself. Instead, you focus on the man from the side of your eye, try to piece out what had made Loki think he was an... easy target. That thought doesn’t help at all, just makes you feel that much more guilty, and you swallow back the lump in your throat.

“E-Excuse me,” you say, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear to calm your shaking fingers. “Excuse me, mister. I don’t mean to bother you, but I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of,” you come up short for a second, not knowing what to ask for, eyes slipping as they search around the man for a familiar figure you’re hoping will make this quick. But there is nothing. Where is Loki? “In the direction of... the Apple Shack,” you blurt, because it’s the only name you know.

Recognition flashes on the man’s face.

“The orchard? Why, it’s just up the road.” He points somewhere vaguely to your left. “Thataway. Big white sign, on the right. You can’t miss it.”

And when you turn back from looking where he had pointed, you do see Loki, crouched on the ground like he’s picking something up.

“Excuse me, sir,” he cuts in, standing and proffering whatever he had to the man. “You seem to have dropped this.” It’s a wallet. Why is he handing the man back his wallet?

Then you notice Loki’s other hand, tucked behind him, between the man and you, holding a wad of paper money. He shakes it, and you take it and quickly slip it into your sleeve.

“Well thank you, young man!” the man exclaims, beaming at Loki and shaking his hand.

“I appreciate the directions, mister,” you say quickly, before you start trembling too much to do so. Your skin is tingly all over, the bundle in your sleeve practically burning against your arm, blood all in a rush.

“Not a problem! You have a nice day, now,” he says, and you smile, and it’s all you can do to keep from running in the opposite direction.

Behind you, the man thanks Loki profusely, and Loki graciously accepts it. He doesn’t deserve it. But, you think giddily, his plan had worked.

You sit on an empty bench, feeling the opposite of discrete, feeling like everyone is paying attention to you. They aren’t, of course. Loki sits next to you a heartbeat later, and he looks at you, and you look at him.

And then he grins, all teeth and dancing eyes, and you feel something bubbling up in your chest. And then you’re laughing, no, giggling, and Loki is laughing too, somewhat hysterical and overwhelmed, because it had worked and it was wild and you’d gotten away with it.

“Did that, did that actually happen?” you ask once you’ve calmed enough to speak, still not quite believing it. You’d really stolen something. Or helped, anyway.

“Yep. Without a hitch.” His smile also fades. “Good job.”

“There wasn’t really anything good about it, though, was there?” you argue, because again. Stealing. It’s wrong.

“Nope,” Loki agrees easily, and another little laugh slips out of you. Because... because as ridiculous, as awful, as bad as it was... it was kind of fun as well.

Part 13

#loki fic #loki fanfic #loki/reader #loki/you #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki fandom #loki imagine #if you know where to look #bifrostgiant writes

[incandescent-eden]

At The Ballet [AU Edvron]

Desc: Devron has always found the ballet beautiful, and there is none as lovely as his significant other, Eden, the primo of the Royal Ballet. After all, how can Eden blame him for wanting to be more like them? Eden disagrees completely. As they share an afternoon, Devron cannot help but marvel at his relationship with Eden. 

TW/CW: body stuff, slightly derogatory/abrasive language

Word Count: 2246

“No.” Eden’s voice was flat.

Devron gasped, pretending to swoon, as he lay back on the floor by Eden’s bed. “No what? I have done nothing wrong.”

 Eden scoffed, raising an eyebrow. Their gray eyes flickered from the pointe shoes on the bed to Devron’s hand resting innocently on his stomach. “Liar.”

 “What? I haven’t technically done anything wrong. Yet.”

“You were thinking it, that’s bad enough.”

Devron sat up lazily, leaning on the plush blankets as Eden sat on the bed next to his elbow, rubbing a white towel over their messy, dark curls. “I wasn’t going to wear them,” he promised.

“Good.” All the same, Eden took the shoes from the bed with one hand and carefully wrapped the straps around their bedpost.

“You’re no fun,” Devron harrumphed.

Eden slapped his hand with the towel. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face, golden boy,” they said gruffly, but they couldn’t conceal the small smirk at the corner of their mouth.

Devron only smiled wider, scooting on his knees to rest his head on Eden’s lap. “I can’t help smiling when I’m happy. That’s what people do when they’re happy, Eden. Just because you have a permanent scowl on your face doesn’t mean I have to.”

Eden snorted. “If you’re gonna start some sappy bullshit like ‘Oooh, Eden, I’m happy just being with you,’ I want to remind you that last week, you told me I was the most insufferable, most argumentative, most cantankerous person you had ever met.” The smirk was prominent on their face by now. “I have to say, I was impressed with your big word choice, but showing off your private tutor much?”

Devron flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said quickly, lifting his head off Eden’s lap so quickly and with such force that he fell on his arm. He screamed before slapping his non hurting hand over his mouth. “I wasn’t gonna… I wasn’t trying to…” he stammered.

Eden laughed, wrapping the towel over their shoulders as Devron tried to come up with an excuse. Their shoulders shook, up and down and up and down. The room itself was small and bare save for Eden’s desk, bed, and drawer, and their laugh filled it easily. It was hot, and Devron had long since removed his binder and tossed it onto Eden’s bed. The sole small window was open ajar to let in some air.

Still red-cheeked, Devron couldn’t help but smile. There was something about Eden’s laugh, not quite high and not quite low, rich like autumn: crisp and cool and sharp, but underneath it all, there was cinnamon and chocolate and apple and the warm embrace of a muffler in the chill air.

Sunlight came in through that window, yellow and weak and pale. Earlier, while Eden was bathing, Devron squinted, grimacing into the light. Since then, the sun and Devron had both changed positions, and, although unsure of the sun’s opinion on the matter, Devron was quite happy with the repositioning. As he pouted, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly to ease the pain and watching the shining silver dust drift down in the sunlight, he marveled at the pointe shoes.

They were dusky pink, specially made for Eden. Devron sighed. How romantic! Specially made silk slippers, like in a fairy tale - and Devron did not doubt the shoes very well could have been made by fairies or elves or the like. The silk shimmered in the sunlight, iridescent rose and white and green and gold, as if enticing the lazy rays of sun to dance, trapping them and rejoicing all the while. Even the dust fell in awe in a circle around them, never touching the surface of the slippers, but deferentially making way for them.

Eden fell back onto their bed with a grunt, laughter still etched faintly on their face. “You’re so stupidly romantic.”

Devron snorted. “You like that, though,” he said.

In response, Eden rolled over onto their stomach, tucking their legs up onto the bed. “Sure. Whatever you wanna believe.” Still, a smile drifted onto their lips. They rested their chin on their arms, eyes half closed. The day was the kind of stifling hot that begged for an afternoon nap, and Eden never could stay awake long after a bath.

Rolling his eyes, Devron launched himself off the floor, climbing onto the bed to sit, cross-legged, next to Eden. Warily, they peered at him.

Devron raised his hands, palms opened. “I’m sitting on this side. Away from the slippers.”

Satisfied, Eden yawned and closed their eyes.

They sat quietly. Devron scooted back against the wall, resting his head. From the outside, there came the tinkling of bells on bicycles, a few children yelling something about a ball, and the buzzing of bees around the meager pot of tiny red flowers Eden kept on the ledge and had miraculously kept alive during the past three months. There was a quiet ticking, as well, from the clock that rested haphazardly at an angle on Eden’s desk, counting the seconds as they passed.

“How many seconds do you think we’ve been together?” Devron asked, eyeing the flower pot, just visible in his line of sight.

“What.” Eden mumbled. Their eyes were still closed, their shoulders relaxed.

It was good to see them dozing off. As of late, they had been coming home so late from rehearsals that Devron had taken to falling asleep at the desk with a small oil lamp lit so they wouldn’t trip in the dark. It wasn’t Eden’s fault, of course. The closer opening night got, the more frazzled Eden became. Even the manager begged them to give their body a rest, reminding them that sleep was equally if not more important than training every day, but Eden couldn’t bring themself to do it, instead going on long walks through the city at night, counting every lamp post and flowerpot and bench they passed.

Over 20,000 lamp posts, they once told Devron proudly. I’ve counted up to 15,641 of them. Devron couldn’t complain at first; after all, it was during one of these nightly walks that Eden met him, in the park, trying and failing desperately and miserably to imitate the elegant movements of the ballerinas. Ballerinas like Eden.

Lately, though, he wished the walks would stop. That Eden would come right before the sun disappeared completely beyond the big hill opposite this tiny room. That they would return before the sky turned purple and then blue and then black with only the warm orange pinpricks of the lampposts below lighting the night and that they would just eat and rest on Devron’s shoulder and fall asleep in his arms.

“I mean, you’ve had that plant for three months,” Devron mused. “But I watched you plant it, so it’s been more than three months times however many seconds.” He paused. “Although, does it count as seconds we’ve spent together if we weren’t actually together, like literally together, for all of them? Is it seconds since we started being, you know, friends, or partners, or just seconds since we met?”

At this, Eden groaned, pushing themself up slowly. Even sitting up in bed was graceful when Eden did it. They sat back, turning to face Devron. “Stop thinking so much, idiot. What time is it?” Their eyes flitted to the clock on the desk. 6:43 in the evening. The sun would not set until later in the night, but the light streaming in was paler than it was before, more white than gold, and had taken on a dull quality. The air in the room was cooler, like the stuffy heat had cleared out, sensing it had overstayed its welcome.

“Okay,” they continued, rubbing their hair and yawning. Devron stifled a laugh, biting his lip. He saw the stray calico who often hung around by the window, and whom Eden had unofficially dubbed ‘Orange,’ do that once. “Okay, so. We’ve been together for ten months, fourteen days, seventeen hours, and fifty-eight minutes. That’s since we’ve met. I don’t know the exact seconds, so let’s not count that. In total? Probably something more than two hundred sixty-two million.”

Devron stared, slack-jawed. “You counted?”

“Well, I multiplied, more or less, I don’t have time to count every second in a day, but – ”

“No, but you counted! You counted the exact number of days since when we met?”

Eden frowned. “What? Does Mr. Romantic find that strange?”

“Not at all,” Devron straightened up gleefully. “So do you usually count the days you’ve spent with someone or…?”

“Depends, are you usually this dense, or do you reserve that for me?” Eden scowled. The tips of their ears were red, nonetheless.

“Oh no, I’m definitely usually dense,” Devron confirmed. “I just reserve a special level of dense for you. Because you mean so much to me,” he said, laughing.

Eden swatted his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you were trying to break your toes and ankles in the middle of the park when we first met.”

“I wasn’t trying to!” Devron protested. He rubbed his elbow with concern, remembering the pain that refused to fade after he hit the ground, how Eden had chastised him after seeing his clumsy attempt at a sauté.

“No, of course not,” Eden rolled their eyes. “You were just trying to go en pointe with about uhhh, let’s see, no training, in your twenties.” They grabbed Devron’s shoulders suddenly. “How could you be so stupid?”

Devron blinked. “Eden. I’m – I’m not doing it right now. I’m never going to try again. Don’t worry.”

Eden relaxed, slumping back. “Sorry. I just. I don’t get it. Why would you do that?”

“Because ballet is beautiful,” Devron said sheepishly. “I saw you on that stage, and I wanted to be like you. Everyone is beautiful at the ballet.” He shrugged. “I promise I won’t try to do pointe ever again.”

It was Eden’s turn to stare. “How could you ever think to do pointe in the first place? That kind of thing is only done through hard work and proper training. From a seriously young age. Some students never go en pointe if they aren’t ready. It’s not just a rite of passage or an elitist thing, it is actually dangerous without the proper training and proper shoes fitted just for you. Besides, how could you think ballet was beautiful?”

“Wait, what was that last part?”

“Ballet is so frustrating. It’s beautiful and awful and hard, and it’s… it’s so ugly.” They frowned.

Devron rested their head on Eden’s shoulder, taking their hand in his. The towel wrapped around their neck was soft from wear and fading. He saw how Eden would curl up on their bed after a long rehearsal. The way the sweat beaded on their forehead long after they should have cooled down, holding their feet with shaking arms. The black and brown and yellow bruises on their feet, stripes of red and angry purple across their legs and ankles from tying the tight straps of their pointe shoes. The anger and the frustration and the pain that they kept caged behind a furrowed brow and clenched teeth.

“I know,” he said softly. Eden squeezed his hand, resting their head on Devron’s.

But then there were the times when they came home glowing, a grin blazing across their face that could not be suppressed no matter how they bluffed and tried to keep cool. The days when they nailed every single jump, twirl, and leap, barely registering it as they flew and fluttered and spun like sunlight itself refracted in the water of the fountain in the town square where Devron liked to sit and feed the stray cats and pigeons during the summer. There were rehearsals Devron watched where, even without costumes or proper lighting or audience in the plush velvet seats, Eden seemed to leave a trail of stardust as they leapt through the air, leaving the air shimmering behind them with magic. And then, on actual show days, fully suited in embroidered jewels and moonlight tights and their fairy silk slippers, they straddled the world of the fairies themselves, drifting in and out of fantasy and reality. Devron saw it in the awed eyes of the audience members, dolled up in their pearls and velvets and lorgnettes as they watched Eden, enraptured.

He couldn’t think of a way to tell them all this, so instead, he said simply, “I still think you’re beautiful when you do ballet.”

Another hand squeeze. “I think you need new eyes.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Eden hummed. They turned, kissing Devron’s hair. “Promise me something?”

Devron sighed. “I’ll never be able to do pointe?”

Eden nodded, their lips still pressed just barely against Devron’s hair. “You started too old.”

“C’est la vie, I guess.” He had no hopes of ever doing pointe, not since that first day they met ten months ago. “What do you want me to promise you?”

“That you’ll never try to do something as stupid as try to do pointe again,” Eden said softly.

“Awww, you do care!” Devron grinned, pulling away from Eden’s shoulder to smile at them.

“Shut up,” Eden said, still holding Devron’s hand in their lap. The corners of their mouth tugged upward in a small grin, though they could not look Devron in the eye.

Chuckling, Devron rested his head on Eden once more. For all their leanness, their shoulder was surprisingly soft. “I promise.”

#writeblr #creative writing #creative fiction #ballet au #original story #original writing #original characters #my OC #ocs #ballet #au #alternate universe #romance #tw: body talk #tw: derogatory language #luxtruran trio #edvron #yes the title and one of the lines IS a reference to A Chorus Line

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2846 Soulmate au: The one where your soulmate's opinion of you shows up on your skin as bruises or marks when negative

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI

Chapter 142: Madara/Tobirama

When he first saw them Tobirama didn’t think much of it. What skin was visible beneath the flare of Madara’s robe looked covered in bruises but that made a lot of sense when they saw each other only in battle. Of course he had bruises after fighting Hashirama so often. Not many people could face the Mokuton and come away with unmarked skin. Tobirama’s eyes slid passed the marks as soon as he saw them, easily dismissing such an insignificant detail in favor of checking to make sure that Hashirama was fine before bringing all concentration back to his own battle.

The next time he saw them they were at peace and Madara hadn’t so much as sparred with Hashirama since the final battle between their clans. Still, there was little reason for Tobirama to suspect anything beyond the usual injuries picked up during the life of a shinobi. His own skin was marred so badly he hadn’t been seen without long sleeves since childhood. He could be forgiven for thinking such things were normal. Seeing Madara’s robe fall open ever so slightly as he slammed his hands down on the table to yell at the Senju elders was barely worth his notice at the time; more important was defending his clan mates and fighting to make sure the Senju came out as well as he could manage in these stupid peace negotiations.

After that he mostly forgot about the bruises. He’d never particularly cared to remember any unnecessary details about such an unwanted aberration in his life. Tobirama didn’t see them again until the village was built and he was standing uneasily to the side as Hashirama and Madara had their very first friendly spar in more than a decade, watching their every move with worry heavy in his chest. What if that cretin took advantage of this moment to finally show his true colors and no one was here to help poor naïve Hashirama? No matter that their match dragged on for more than an hour with no sign of foul play, still he continued to lurk on the edges with his eyes trained on Madara’s every twitch and shift. Just because nothing suspicious had happened yet didn’t mean nothing would if he let his guard down and left.

It was only when they finished, laughing and falling back on what looked more like play fighting than an actual spar, that Tobirama happened to see Madara’s robe slip and expose a large swath of what should have been pale chest. His skin was dark, mottled purple and back and red, welts upon bruises upon scabrous sores all hidden underneath his clothing – a mirror image of Tobirama’s own skin. Were it anyone else Tobirama knew he would have felt a rush of empathy for someone suffering the same fate as him, bearing the physical wounds of his own soulmate’s hatred without even know who they were, but this was Madara. This was the man who had stolen his brother’s affection and attention. This was an Uchiha monster barely worthy of human consideration. Someone like him didn’t deserve sympathy. No, Tobirama felt nothing but vindictive satisfaction, mentally applauding whoever the man’s soulmate was on their good sense. Who the hell would want to be matched to someone like that?

Even seeing the marks first hand didn’t truly make them stick in his mind, still. Tobirama slowly – grudgingly – admitted that it was fine to leave Madara and his brother alone in a room together. He still didn’t trust the Uchiha but whatever plans he had seemed to run in vein with Hashirama’s ideas of peace. For now, at least.  

Most of what little attention Tobirama could spare for those first few years went to Izuna and the strange shifting dynamic of their old rivalry. The two of them would never be great friends but they did learn to get along somewhat, enough so that they were able to refrain from screaming in each other’s faces when forced work together. It was about as much as could be asked of either man.

The rest of Tobirama’s attention was taken up by the distracting mystery of his own skin. He hadn’t really noticed at first, so subtle were the changes, but the wounds marring his body were slowly receding until he began to see patches of clear, unbroken skin. He could remember times in his youth when he had found open weeping sores with no physical cause, evidence of the incredible hatred his soulmate felt for him. Now, though he still had no idea who they were, he was treated to the privilege of watching that opinion change day by day. Somewhere in the world there existed a man or woman who was learning to forgive him for whatever he had done to earn their hatred.

With such an amazing thing happening to himself and still so busy trying to properly build the village of his brother’s dreams, Tobirama had no spare thoughts for Madara until – miraculously and almost without him noticing – they had been at peace for five solid years. Hashirama insisted on a festival to celebrate and Tobirama refused to be in the room with the two older men whenever they let their heads run away from them with planning. It was like herding two excitable children, though only Hashirama smiled like one.

Konohagakure’s five year anniversary celebration was the day when Tobirama’s world turned upside down completely. For the life of him he would never remember what Torifu had been talking about, chattering away in his ear and tugging on the sleeve of his tightly fastened yukata. His memory always focused on the moment someone bumped in to his student from behind and sent the boy tumbling backwards with his fingers still holding tightly on Tobirama’s clothing. The ripping sound of expensive cloth was only barely visible about the noise of the crowds but the swaths of clear pale skin suddenly on display certainly caught more than a few people’s attention; his insistence on staying covered at all times had led to him being called a prude in many corners. Showing a bit of skin was almost scandalous in that light.

Still, he wasn’t sure that warranted the look Madara gave his exposed chest, unadulterated hunger mixed with a deep, deep pain. It was one of the strangest looks he had ever been on the receiving end of. And being both an albino and one of the strongest shinobi alive, Tobirama had seen his fair share of odd expressions.

“Madara please,” Hashirama whined, pinching his nose. “I’m right here.”

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

“It’s okay if you have a crush on him, I’m fine with it! Just…tone down whatever gross thoughts you’ve got in your head right now, okay? I don’t want to see that. He is my brother after all.” Hashirama boomed out a laugh and whacked his friend on the back, completely ignoring the stunned reactions of everyone in earshot.

Tobirama stared at the man now blushing furiously and avoiding his eyes, feeling like the earth was titling out from underneath him as his mind made a few intuitive leaps that he wished it hadn’t. He could feel the blood thundering in his own ears when he stepped forward to grab Madara by the arm and drag him aside.

“Play nice, you guys!” Hashirama called after them. Both of them ignored their Hokage as Tobirama dragged them in to the shadows between two food stalls, shoving the older man up against a wooden beam.

“Are we soulmates?” he demanded.  

Even before Madara could scrounge up a reply the answer was obvious. The hesitant longing in his eyes, the way his throat bobbed with sudden nerves, the curl of his body  as though he wished for nothing more than to reach out for something yet dared not to. Drawing in a shaky breath, Tobirama reeled backwards a step and dragged both hands down his face.

“I didn’t expect you to figure it out,” Madara admitted quietly.

Dropping his hands again, Tobirama stared at the man, unable to answer. From the moment they met as young children on opposite sides of a generations-long war he had hated this person; he had hated Madara with the sort of passion which can only come from mindless devotion without reason. It had only gotten worse after that day on the banks of the Naka River when Madara had been solidified in his mind as the one who took his brother’s affections away from him. Hashirama had forgiven him years ago of course but things had never been quite the same between them after that.

Negative though it was, his hatred had been one of the very few constants in Tobirama’s life, something to fall back on when he needed a sense of normalcy. And he had thought Madara felt the same towards him. Never once had it occurred to him that any Uchiha besides his cute little student felt anything other than visceral dislike and perhaps a grudging respect for him.

Such assumptions were irrefutably disproved by the clear skin he saw every day in the mirror, the utter lack of bruises or scratches, the healing of any lingering scars. In fact, the smoothing over of even the scars he had earned himself in battle was what truly brought his mind to a screeching halt, the one thing that left him feeling like he suddenly recognized nothing in the world around him. If they truly were soulmates then Madara’s opinion of him would show in the condition of his skin: injuries that grew more severe the more the man hated him or cleared away the more the man grew to care for him. Scars, on the other hand, were their own indicator. Only love could heal scars – deep, true, unbending romantic love.

And Madara had not expected him to figure this out. Which, by extension, meant that he had figured it out and deliberately kept the secret. And also that Madara was in love with him by some wild twist of circumstances.

“I think I need to sit down,” he heard himself mumble. His companion twisted like he was trying to fold in on himself.

“Your opinion on the matter is clear enough without words. Rest assured, I expect nothing. I never have.”

“How long…” Tobirama trailed off, his eyes drawn to the wide collar of Madara’s formal robes, just that little bit lower than his usual clothing that allowed Tobirama a glimpse of the dark skin hidden beneath. It was easy to look at those marks and feel a spiteful satisfaction when he thought Madara felt only the same hatred between them. Seeing them and knowing it was himself who put such wounds on another person’s body made everything different even without knowing that his own skin was perfectly clear, soft and unmarked.

Madara shrugged and looked away, avoiding the question he hadn’t finished asking anyway. Nearly choking himself on all the conflicting emotions rising in his throat, Tobirama stumbled back a step.

Later he would be mortified that he hadn’t even had the courage to excuse himself, only bolted like a child frightened by a new concept too big to be fathomed, but at the moment all he could concentrate on was the panic overriding all other senses. He was reaching for the farthest hiraishin marker in the village before he could talk himself down. A moment later he was leaning back against the outer walls of the village with his hands over his eyes like they could block out the world and give him at least enough time to process the impossibility he had just uncovered.

He was gone by the time the next patrol came by, although they did stop to inspect the tuft of white strands where he had pulled out his own hair in frustration.

The two of them had never spent a great amount of time together that wasn’t forcibly necessary so it wasn’t exactly noticeable how much effort Tobirama put in to avoiding the other man for after that. At least, it wasn’t at first. He always seemed to forget how observant his older brother was under the usual veneer of childish exuberance. It was Hashirama who approached him with a wobbling chin little more than a month later and begged Tobirama to tell him what they had spoken about at the anniversary festival and what had been so bad about it that neither of them was willing to even talk about the other. Tobirama ignored him, of course, which turned out to be a mistake.

Something else he preferred to conveniently forget was his brother’s tendency to meddle. He should have been suspicious the moment Hashirama accepted his excuse of just another random argument, should have known that it was a little too easy. He had only his own inattention to blame when he found himself ushered in to Hashirama’s office to face a startled looking Madara while Hashirama cheerfully told them he expected them to talk things out and set aside whatever disagreement had them both ‘in a tizzy’ this time.

When the door shut the two of them inside with a gentle click he winced as though it had been slammed with all the violence of a closing cage. Against all expectations, Madara gave him no more than a single glance before dismissing him and wandering around to throw himself down in the massive chair behind Hashirama’s desk, pulling some of the paperwork towards himself and rifling through it, checking as they both often did to make sure their illustrious Hokage had actually filled his forms in correctly. Tobirama simply stood unmoving by the door, his eyes flitting around the room uncomfortably while he tried to decide if he was more upset that he would now have to murder his own sibling or that he had apparently been worried so much over nothing.

Madara didn’t even look angry.

“You can go.” He almost jumped at the sound of Madara’s voice. When he dared to peek over in that direction the man hadn’t even bothered to look up, focused on the papers in front of him with his lips quirked up ever so slightly on one side. “We can give him some vague bullshit about talking it out; you know he’ll swallow it down. So you can go if you like.”

“Why aren’t you…upset with me?” Tobirama forced himself to ask, more curious to know than he was afraid of the answer. Finally Madara looked up at him through dark lashes.

“Because you don’t hate me,” the man said quietly. “Not as much as you think you do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Tobirama narrowed his eyes, fists clenching with instinctive anger. He knew perfectly well how he felt, thank you very much, and no Uchiha had any right to make assumptions about him – no matter how often his thoughts turned to them of late. It was only natural to be curious about his own soulmate, after all.

Now smiling openly, Madara leaned back in the massive chair and deliberately pushed his sleeves up. Then he simply went back to work as though he were perfectly alone in the room. Tobirama stared hard, trying to figure out what game the idiot was playing at, but when he figured it out he felt all the air in his lungs leave him in a great rush. Just like last time he found himself reaching out for one of his many hiraishin marks, running away in a blind panic, though this time he felt the shame of it burning his ears even as he landed in the safety of his own home and stumbled against his kitchen counter, fingers gripping the wood until it threatened to crack.

It was only a pair of forearms, nothing to panic over if it had been anyone else. What made these ones so special was the yellow-green color of the bruises on his skin where before they been so deeply purple they could have been mistaken for black. It was the fact that they were healing, steadily and obviously, that had Tobirama slumping down at his kitchen table and burying his head in both arms. Perhaps it made him a coward but he wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that his feelings towards the other man were changing. And he rather resented the connection between them betraying his thoughts before he’d had time to come to terms with them himself.

Curling a little farther in to himself, Tobirama thought about the smile on Madara’s face, so content, so pleased, so unlike anything he would have expected. It was the smile of someone who realized they were winning a game before they had ever really begun to play it. It was, he realized, the smile of someone willing to be patient and allow him whatever time he needed to come to terms with things between them.

Loathe as he was to admit it, that smile terrified Tobirama. Not the least because he found it so intriguing.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

[hekate1308]

Shared Joy, Double Joy

Drowley AU - Crowley is a demon who happens to possess a mechanic called Dean Winchester. Enjoy!

Dear God, pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it –

Dean blinked. Or rather, he tried to blink, found that he had no control over his body, and stayed rather remarkably calm once he realized.

He’d never felt like anything like this before. He was most definitely moving, but he hadn’t decided to do so; furthermore, the street he was walking down was nowhere near his home –

What the hell, is this Vegas? he exclaimed without actually saying the words. He’d have to figure out later how this was possible.

Or not.

Because a strange kind of silence followed the sentence in his mind, almost as if he were talking to someone and they were studying him...

You should definitely not be awake, the same voice he had heard a moment ago declared. For some reason, even though “hearing” was an exaggeration, considering it was more like they were... thinking in Dean’s head without permission, he knew they had a British accent. And didn’t that make everything even more confusing.

What do you mean? I am awake!

Yes, and you shouldn’t be. Don’t make me repeat myself, it’s particularly annoying.

It’s particularly annoying, he mocked them before demanding, What is going on?

What then followed would probably have best been described as a struggle, if he had been able to move his limbs and he had actually been fighting anyone. At the end of his, he was panting... in his mind. And the silence that ensued felt more... intrigued than anything else.

I have to admit I am surprised, the voice then told him.

He snorted. Great. Now, what’s going on?

They sighed. Since I can’t seem to put you under – and really, that is quite interesting, I have to say – I’m a demon and am currently possessing you.

What!?

Demon. Me. Possessing. You.

If he could have rolled his eyes, he would have. Demons don’t –

He didn’t finish the thought because, if he hadn’t spontaneously gone insane (and this certainly didn’t sound like any kind of crazy he’d ever heard of) he was possessed.

Knew you weren’t half as mentally deficient as you believe yourself to be.

Fine, okay, so you’re a demon. But why would a demon possess me? Dean always thought demons were supposed to tempt people, and he certainly didn’t need any help in the immorality or vice department.

Had to lie low for a while.

Oh? What gives?

He figured he might as well get the whole story since there wasn’t much he could do. He was still pretty calm about this whole thing. Maybe he was hooked up on some kind of demon juice?

Demon juice? Now they sounded indignant. What do you take me for?

How about you tell me?

They sighed. Fine. If you have to know –

It’s my body, figure I’ve got the right –

Do you want to hear this or not?

Dean was silent.

I’m a crossroads demon. The best in the business.

Wow, aren’t we humble.

Just telling the truth, darling.

Fine. But if you’re that good at your job, why are you here... in me, then? Shouldn’t you be haunting some crossroads forcing some poor smug to make a deal?

I never force anyone to make a deal with me. And I had to leave Hell for a while. There were... complications.

Like union-strike complications or slept-with-your-bosses-wife complications?

I... angered Lucifer.

Wait, you upset the literal devil?

I didn’t set out to do so. But the fact is, we disagree on a lot of things. And so I decided to lay low for a few weeks at least. And just my luck, I happen to possess the down-on-his-luck mechanic with as many mummy and daddy issues to sort through as the day is long.

Hey –

If it makes you feel better, my mother was a witch.

Why would you want to make me feel better?

Excellent question. They sounded almost... puzzled.

Any chance I can get you to get out of my noggin?

None. Like I said, I have to lie low.

Then what are we doing in Vegas?

Excellent spot for making deals.

That’s not exactly lying low though, is it? He pointed out smugly.

I just wanted a bit of money to live as I am used to –

Again, lying low? This ain’t it, buddy.

A pause. Then – Name’s Crowley.

Dean Winchester. But I figure you already know that.

Indeed I do.

Any chance you haven’t been all over my brain finding out every last thing you can about me? Another pause. That’s a no then.

You should be honoured. Humans normally don’t interest me.

And what makes me special?

Crowley didn’t answer. He – for some reason, Dean was convinced that he was talking to a guy – instead suddenly declared rather dramatically, I suppose we will have to return to your rat-infested apartment then.

That was two years ago, and I handled it.

You could afford better, but you don’t. Why?

Dean mind-shrugged. What’s the point? I mostly use it for sleeping, anyway.

Because you’ve been doing so much of that lately. I can tell you’re exhausted, and this isn’t even my body.

Exactly! How about you don’t go “Look at your life, look at your choices” while you are out here possessing people? Wait, what time is it? I gotta go to work.

If you think I am actually going to that dingy little shop to placate your whining idiot of a boss by working on the cars of douche bags who don’t even recognize what talent is being thrown away at –

Sorry to tell you, but I am still here, still awake, and I can and will annoy you. I need that job to pay for my rent.

He let that thought fester until Crowley asked, What are you suggesting?

I thought the best crossroads demon out there would recognize an offer when he heard one, Dean answered, wondering where he got that idea from. Then again, he was already possessed, what else was he supposed to do?

Eventually Crowley said, You have my attention.

The deal they struck went as follows: Dean wouldn’t try to throw Crowley out – he wasn’t quite sure how he would have gone about that, but it seemed like the safest option to agree – and he’d allow the demon to stay in his place and act as Dean Winchester half of the time, while he’d be able to control his body for the other half. After some more bickering, Crowley had reluctantly agreed that half the time meant half the time that Dean was awake, for he soon found that he could still sleep when he wanted. Of course he could have gone under while Crowley was in control, but he didn’t trust the demon that far.

He turned out to be a surprisingly easy house guest. Hell, he even did the dishes.

You like my burgers, don’t you, Dean told him one day.

They do taste better than those greased-loaded heart attacks waiting to happen you like to devour at least once a day, Crowley shot back. After a pause he added, You would make a good chef.

Ha bloody ha. Dean usually tried to imitate his accent when he annoyed him.

I mean it. Although don’t think I haven’t noticed what really interests you.

If he had actually been holding the plate Crowley was cleaning, he would have dropped it. We agreed. No snooping around in my subconscious.

I got all of that before you were ever aware I was here, darling.

Of course he had.

It was just a silly little day dream, is all.

I wouldn’t call a nursing degree silly.

It was nothing. Drop it.

Miraculously, Crowley did.

After a while, Dean didn’t consider it absolutely necessary to watch over every little thing Crowley said or did when he was in control, and he now and then dived back into his mind to listen to the music, read the books or watch the movies he’d memorized.

He realized that had been a mistake when he resurfaced one day just to check up on how things were going. Really, part of him had been relieved that their family lunch fell into Crowley’s time slot. Once upon a time, he had been glad to see Mom; but since he had realized that that she hardly listened to what he had to say, as opposed to Sam’s monologues about his job, he’d grown rather disenchanted with it all.

Plus, this time they were being introduced to Sam’s new girlfriend, and they usually only heard “mechanic”, assumed the worst and barely talked to him, so there was that.

And then he got back from watching The Untouchables and the first thing he heard coming out of his own mouth was –

“Slaughter-House Five is superior to Cat’s Cradle, but I still think the later is very fascinating –“

“Oh yes” the new girl, Sarah he remembered, replied enthusiastically, “The depiction of bokononism –“

Crowley!

I was fed up with being lectured or ignored. Also, your brother’s and mother’s expressions have been utterly hilarious. Plus, don’t pretend that’s not your opinion.

It is but –

“I didn’t know you liked to read” Mom said, looking puzzled.

“I’m a man of mystery.”

Sarah giggled. “I really have to congratulate you, Sammy.”

Only I get to call him that, Dean told him, even though he was trying his best not to laugh.

Crowley had been right about their expressions.

He supposed one little slip up couldn’t hurt.

And then Crowley got bored.

It had only been a matter of time, Dean supposed. Lucifer could apparently hold a grudge – no surprise there – and demons were not made to live quietly.

He was still somewhat surprised at how Crowley decided to occupy himself.

I wanted a burger and a beer.

Too bad, it’s my turn, and a salad and mineral water it is.

Not only was he making him eat rabbit food, he had also chosen a somewhat nicer diner than Dean would have for his lunch break.

But –

No buts, don’t you humans know how to take care of yourselves?

Dean decided it wasn’t worth the fight.

Crowley, when I said I needed to go clothes shopping –

Have you ever even looked in a mirror? And you waste those good looks on denim and flannel.

Dean stared at the shirts Crowley was going through. Are you flirting with me?

Told you you were not mentally deficient.

Yes, he decided, it was definitely better to concentrate on the shirts.

Why are we watching a few dozen idiots giving each other brain damage again?

Because, as you would say, it’s my turn and the Chiefs are playing. Be a good boy and you get to watch cricket when it’s yours.

You should know by now that I am far better at being naughty than nice.

Their conversations had taken on a decidedly flirty tone ever since that shopping trip, but Dean did his best not to notice.

He failed most of the time.

“There’s something different about you, lately” Benny suddenly announced.

Dean looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that shirt, for one. Looks good on you.”

“And I thought you were happily married –“

“Ha ha. But seriously, brother – you look good. Healthier, even.”

He shrugged. “Changed my diet up a bit.” Crowley would have nagged him forever if he hadn’t now and then eaten a salad voluntarily, now.

Benny frowned. “That’s not all though. But hey, whatever’s working for you – I’m just glad it does.”

Dean could hardly tell him that he had a demonic life coach.

I resent that description.

Sorry, your Highness, would you prefer live-in partner?

For once, Crowley shut up.

After a particularly gruelling day at the shop, Dean sank down in front of his laptop, biting his lip.

Go on. You know you want to.

I am just thinking about it.

Yes. You have been for weeks. Now for God’s sake do something about that!!!

He could have sworn Crowley actually sounded sincere.

And so he tiped Nursing School into the search bar.

“You are going to do what?” Sam asked, blinking.

“I am going to get a nursing certificate. The University of Miami offered me a scholarship. Doesn’t cover everything, but I should get by.”

Sarah was smiling brightly. “That’s wonderful, Dean!”

“I wanted it for a while” he admitted.

“Dean...” Sam hesitated. “If that’s truly what you want, then I’m glad too.”

Ugh. Heartfelt family conversations. How do you humans deal with that?

Mostly by not grunting when they happen.

How mind-numbingly dull.

Crowley –

Fine, fine, I’ll let you have your moment.

Dean was one year into the program, by this time having all but forgotten that sharing his mind with someone wasn’t exactly normal. He now and then had to catch himself, lest he answer to Crowley loudly and freak out someone, but other than that, he was pretty content.

So of course things had to go south.

Crowley had been strangely silent while he did his course work. Not that he didn’t let him do it; but he normally had more to say.

Then –

I have been checking out Hell while you were asleep.

Oh? The devil still on the war path?

No. I think I can return now.

Dean looked up from his papers, not for the first time wishing that he and Crowley could see eye-to-eye. What?

Face it, darling, I’ve done more than my due here, and don’t forget I am the king of the –

Crossroads, yeah, got it, Dean replied, a sinking feeling in his stomach making itself know. Crowley was leaving. Thanks for everything, I guess.

Yes, I – well, I guess that’s it. Bye.

And Crowley was gone.

Dean’s new apartment suddenly felt way too empty.

Five years later

“Ah, Dean.”

“Doctor Mills” he greeted her.

“How’s my favourite nurse?”

“Feeling like I can’t get out of this penguin suit quickly enough” he told her. Give him scrubs any day.

She laughed. “Sorry, you first have to smooch up to the donors. Come on.”

Benefit dinners were not exactly Dean’s idea of a good time, but he could gladly spent a few hours with some rich dude if it meant they got enough money out of it. He loved his job; he was certainly not going to look for a new one if he could help it.

The man Jody had told him was their biggest donor yet was talking to one of their neurosurgeons, but turned around as they approached.

Dean was taken aback. He had never seen the man before in his life, and yet there was something familiar about him, something he couldn’t quite place.

“May I introduce you to our best nurse, Mr. Crowley?” Doctor Mills asked and Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

It couldn’t be.

He had missed the demon, more than he was ready to admit; for a time, his head had felt so empty and silent, until he had slowly remembered that this was how it was supposed to be; and yet now and then he had wished – he wouldn’t even been able to say what for.

Crowley – stop that, it can’t be him – reached out to shake his hand. “Mr. Winchester.”

That voice. He would have recognized it anywhere. He cleared his throat and reciprocated. “Mr. Crowley.”

“I am very glad to meet you. Doctor Mills has been waxing poetry about you.”

“I am sure she over exaggerated my talents.”

“On the contrary” he said, his eyes sparkling.

When Doctor Mills left them, shooting Dean a glance that clearly indicated she’d picked up on the... tension between them, Crowley said, “Told you. Not mentally deficient at all.”

Good God. “Crowley, what are you doing here?”

“Donating to a hospital. Thought I would try to even things out a bit, you know, karma and all that.”

Dean snorted. “Right. And who’s that poor smug you’re possessing?”

“It’s a John Doe, and he was long gone; only the machines were keeping him alive. It’s just me in here.”

Dean felt strangely relieved, almost as if he had been jealous at the thought of Crowley possessing and constantly talking to someone else. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but why are you here?”

Crowley grinned, somewhat unsettlingly – although Dean couldn’t deny that it looked attractive, too – “I just wanted to check up on an old investment of mine.”

“An investment, mh?”

“Oh yes. Spent quite a bit of time on that project a few years back, right after my priorities shifted.”

“Oh they did?”

“Yes. And so I decided to leave Hell and build up a worldly fortune for a bit.”

“And what do you think of your old... project?”

“I think it has been doing quite well in my absence.”

“So what now? Another check-in in five years?”

“I was actually thinking about staying here for a while.”

Dean grinned. “You’ll need someone to show you all the places worth seeing around here.”

“You think so?”

There was only one answer to give.

Half an hour later, Dean turned them around so it was Crowley being pressed against the wall of an empty hospital corridor for a change. “By the way” he asked in-between kisses, “How did you find such an attractive meat suit?”

“I’ve been inside of you darling, remember? I knew what to look for.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway.  

#spn #my writings #dean winchester #crowley #drowley #mechanic!dean #nurse!dean