#the art style is different than my usual one... but still has traces of mine

[seariii]

Huh... No cause, I actually nailed the vibe on the panda hero art... Good job seari

#i wouldn't call it vent art since it was specifically done to resemble the original #but the rough and upset vibe of it i did use as some sort of vent #the art style is different than my usual one... but still has traces of mine #sigh... i should have dinner it's pretty late and I'm hungry... #... i survived today... i spiraled last night and went to war... i feel drained and empty #but... but i survived... and i didnt give in to anything... waking up that late wasnt ideal but... but im alive ... #and that's what matters. alr lets eat something nice and warm and we can see what we watch on the meantime i want something comfy... #anyways if i go to sleep after dinner tomorrow ill hopefully return with more energy #sorry you have to see this low energy non cheerful me... i don't like her either

[meanbossart]

Asks about VaM, art advice, and miscellaneous stuffs

HI! Real quick please refrain from referring to Sad Sack as S/S for the uh... Obviously reasons LOL We call it "sads" for short!

If what you're asking for are recommendations for a website to host that kind of thing, Neocities, Twitter, Itchio and as you mentioned AO3 are all perfectly good options! Patreon too (depending on how gnarly you're planning on getting) but I'd suggest keeping that as a secondary host option because I don't think it lends itself super well for getting your work circulating. I believe Bluesky allows that kind of thing too, but I'm not too sure since I don't use it.

Now, If you're asking about public reaction rather than guidelines, anywhere you go you might find people that don't jive with the work you do 🤷 just be upfront about the type of content you're making right off the bat to avoid having anyone stumble upon it by accident to the best of your abilities, otherwise, I wouldn't worry too much. I know we're constantly exposed to examples of overwhelming harassment and "dogpilling" happening to others but... Truth be told, most of us won't ever get to the size/internet level of fame where we experience that. I think the threat is a little bit... Overstated, nowadays. Not to mention that most of the time people are getting harassment for things that have nothing to do with their work, and rather relating to their behavior and attitudes. Play smart, be responsible, and be honest! Whatever comes next is in god's hands LOL

Thank you for the ask! Not sure I was of much help 😅 but frankly when you're just starting out it's best to focus on getting the work done first and just throwing it out there, wherever it may be. You can worry about technicalities like that later!

I GOT YOU MAN the full sketch is now up on my patreon!

YES AND YES WHETHER IT BE STORIES OR ART OF DU DROW AND YOUR CHARACTERS SLAMMING PINTS TOGETHER BE MY GUEST PLEASE

I love seeing everyone's take on my weirdo so much, anything is honestly welcomed!

AW DUDE thank you so much! Especially for suffering through the mammoth of a story that ANE turned into - writing has never been my strongest point so I'm always shocked to hear from people that enjoy it 🥲

About the booze question, honestly I'm not picky at all, I usually go by price and by that I mean whatever is cheapest LOL but I prefer a dry white as far as types go.

You only have to pay for it once! You get a code that unlocks the software and all of it's features and you're free to cancel your subscription after that. At some point the code might change or there might be an update that requires subscribing again - but that seems like a very rare occurrence so I wouldn't worry about it.

OH NO I HAVE DEFINITELY TRACED MY OWN REFERENCE BEFORE, but not entire poses! When something is challenging I'll make a point of drawing it out the usual way.

I can remember a couple of instances from Nick and mine's comic where I traced pictures I took of myself, just as a time saving measure. Again like I said in the post, there are several ways to employ tracing your own material that is perfectly acceptable. I have also traced bare-bones 3D backgrounds that I made for the same reasons.

I know you specifically asked about tracing when something's complicated, but I still wanted to be upfront to demystify the practice under different circumstances. The rule of thumb is to never use it when you know it would be inhibiting your skill development!

Happy to hear you wanted to pick up the skill! I definitely understand the urge too LOL since playing BG3 and becoming so invested in the stories and characters my art has improved a ton, simply from forcing me out of my usual style and making me want to capture different moods and scenarios - finding something you're passionate to draw is, frankly a great damn start.

I replied to a bunch of asks asking for pointers and advice a while back, one of the questions was very similar to yours and I still stand behind the advice I gave then. Hopefully you can find something helpful here! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/740543514692173824/some-art-advice-asks-ive-been-meaning-to-reply

HMMM I don't usually think of myself as the best teacher/tutorial guy, but funnily enough I can think of a few things about this topic that I could elaborate on lol. If I do that in the near future, I'll put it up on my patreon (for free as with everything else.)

If there are any specific things about it that you (and anyone else who would be interested in it, for that matter) find challenging and would like for me to focus on, let me know!

---

That's all for now folks, and as usual thank you so much to everyone who's left a nice compliment, word of encouragement or funny tidbit in my inbox as well! I can't reply to you all individually, but I see and read all the messages I get c:

HAVE A LOVELY REST OF YOUR WEEK

#lore asks coming either later today or tomorrow! #I might reply to a few right now/space them out rather than do another compilation #we'll see how I feel about it! #ask compilation

[e-milieeee]

the stars know (you and i are meant to be)—ladynoir

Summary: Between akumas and school, Ladybug and Chat Noir find some time in between to sit back, have a picnic, and stargaze. And perhaps learn a little more about each other. 

Notes: happy birthday @edendaphne! your art was some of the first i saw when i joined the fandom and i love it sm (this oneshot is based off of this). i hope you have a great day <3 

written for day 2: stargazing and day 17: future for @ladynoirjuly2020.

Her mother tells her that preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Marinette begs to differ. It’s just a meal, after all. There are three meals a day, and she finds it pointless to assign some sort of underlying worth to all of them.

But now, painstakingly arranging the bento boxes she’d made for Chat Noir, she begrudgingly understands what her mother means. She wraps them in picnic cloth, shouldering her bag full of supplies, and then drops out from her balcony to meet Chat.

They find each other halfway; Ladybug spots a familiar streak of black darting between rooftops. She knows he sees her: he always does.

Sure enough, Chat Noir turns up behind her in the span of five seconds and shoots her his usual blinding grin. “Good evening, m’lady!”

His smile is contagious, and Ladybug doesn’t even try to contain her own. “Hungry?” she asks him as they start to move again, racing over buildings at a breakneck speed. “You better not have eaten dinner before this, because I cooked a lot.”

Chat feigns offence. “I can’t believe you would even suggest I’d do such a thing. I’d eat the food you cooked me even if it’s burnt and cold, you know that.” He pauses, a contemplative look crossing his face. “Though I am expecting some world class cooking.”

Ladybug thinks back to the five hours she spent cooking their dinner, and the careful arranging she’d done of the bento boxes and the wide array of food she’d made sure to cook. It’s a fusion of both Japanese and Chinese cuisine—Chat’s favourites. Preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Perhaps her mother is right, but it’s still just an intimate gesture between friends. Yeah, that’s what it is.

“World class cooking pales in comparison to mine,” Ladybug jokes, although she also feels obligated to add on, “don’t raise your expectations too high.”

“With you, my expectations are always high.”

She shoves him just for that comment, inciting nothing but a slight falter in his movements and a large grin. With a shake of her head, Ladybug moves on, if only to hide her own smile. 

***

They set up their picnic on top of a hill.

It’s secluded, and that’s the best part of the location. Ladybug unpacks her bag to start tugging out the blankets she packed: some to sit on, others to huddle under when the night starts getting chilly. Then, even more carefully, she begins to lay their dinner bit by bit in front of them, until she finally spreads the feast out in front of Chat.

His mouth drops open, and he does not even attempt to close it. Saucer-plate eyes blink at her.

“For me?” Chat finally manages after at least thirty seconds of gaping. “I mean… you made all of this for me?”

Ladybug has to admit she’s pleased by his reaction, and even more so pleased by the fact that their slightly rough journey hadn’t ruined the aesthetic appeal of most of her dishes.

“Well, for me as well,” she teases, reaching over to tap on his bell.

He’s undeterred. “This is unbelievable,” he whispers, more to himself than her. “M’lady, I can’t believe you made this to eat with me.”

Something about his tone tugs at her heart. In an attempt to snap him out of it, Ladybug points out, “It’s kitty themed.”

“I know.” His voice wobbles slightly. “Are those cat cookies supposed to be me?”

“Yeah. They turned out kind of ugly, though.”

“No, they’re beautiful. I wish I could look like that.”

“Chat, you don’t have a nose in those cookies. You really don’t.”

He sniffles once more, and Ladybug realizes belated that he has teared up. “Chat,” she tries, this time in a gentler tone. “Are you… crying?”

He rubs his eyes rather violently. “No.”

“Kitty…”

“Fine, yes. I’m just very happy. These are happy tears. It’s okay.” With one last painful looking scrub over his face, Chat Noir lowers his hands. “You can introduce the dishes and we’ll eat.”

Knowing better to push, she obliges the request, even if Ladybug has her doubts on happy tears. There’s a certain melancholy in his words, the sort that carries an old sort of pain. So instead, sitting side by side, their knees touching and sitting just close enough that she feels the warmth radiating off him, Ladybug starts to name the dishes.

“These are the appetizers,” she tells Chat, who listens attentively. “Those are pork potstickers—they might not be as hot as they were before, though. That one’s called… um, lang… liang ni?” The words don’t sound like how her mother says them, but her Chinese is lacking in more ways than one and Ladybug can’t remember the name of the dish for the life of her. “Honestly, I have no clue what it’s called. I think it roughly translates into cold noodles.”

Chat leans over to scrutinize the dish. “It looks familiar.”

“The noodles are store-bought, but I made the sauce. There’s carrots, beansprouts, and cucumbers. And those tofu things. It’s also spicy, but I put the sauce in a container so if you can’t handle spice, you don’t need to add it.”

Never one to admit defeat, he folds his arms. “I can handle spicy food easily.”

“Okay, tough guy, I’ll take you up on that later. Anyway, I made us both bento boxes for the main meal, and…” She opens the box, and Chat’s eyes practically bulge out of his head.

“Cats?” he demands. “Rice cats? Oh my god, Ladybug, you’re unbelievable.”

Cats, indeed. She’d spent an hour shaping them: sticky rice balls shaped into little kitten heads, with ears sticking out at the side. There’s one made from white rice and another from purple rice, and the faces are styled from carefully cut pieces of dried seaweed, then sprinkled with sesame seeds. Ladybug’s certain that beneath the suit, her hands still smell like the seasoning she’d rolled the rice with because of the sheer amount of time she had spent on them.

“I made both Taiwanese fried chicken and teriyaki salmon for meat, then fried some vegetables. For health reasons. And kimchi, because we had some in our fridge and I thought, why not?” With that, she sets his bento box into his lap and gestures at the cookies. “Dessert. And something else afterwards, if you’re still hungry.”

“Something afterwards…?”

“You’ll see later,” she mumbles. “Anyway, dig in before it gets cold.”

Ladybug’s never been that great at accepting compliments, and Chat doesn’t lay off on them today either. He picks up the chopsticks with care and carefully picks up a piece of Taiwanese fried chicken. He pops it into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, then swallows.

Ladybug is never not in awe of how Chat’s eyes can literally light up.

“You weren’t lying,” he gushes. “This is world class cooking.”

“You’re laying it on a little too thick there,” she laughs.

“I speak only the truth, m’lady. This is amazing. Just like you.”

“Chat…”

“Okay, okay!” He’s still smiling as he moves to the rice ball. “I almost don’t want to eat them. They’re too perfect.”

Ladybug reaches over with her own chopsticks, stabbing one of his rice balls to split it in half, also tearing off one of the seaweed-eyes in the process. “There you go,” she declares sagely. “Ready to eat.”

Chat’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I-I didn’t even get a picture!”

Ladybug pats his back. “Life is full of disappointments, isn’t it, chaton?”

He stabs her rice ball just for the hell of it before returning to his meal.

***

By the time she and Chat have practically cleaned out all the food (how he’d eaten nine cookies after the meal is beyond Ladybug), she’s so full that any slight movement hurts.

“Oh my god,” Chat is saying, tilting his head back. “I don’t think I’ve eaten so much for years.”

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Ladybug agrees. She’s lying back on the picnic blanket, staring at the sky. The sun had set twenty minutes ago, but traces of its light still peek out at the edge of the horizon, dyeing the sky a lovely indigo colour. Only the brightest stars are visible right now, but the others start to blink into existence one by one as day rests and night awakens.

“I feel like I’m going to die too.” He props his chin on his hand. “But it’s the good sort of dying. How privileged I am to be able to die next to you.”

Laughing hurts, but she can’t help but do so anyway. “Drama queen.”

He bats his eyelashes at her. “Only for you, Bugaboo.”

Ladybug wrinkles her nose at him in mock disgust, but a laugh is threatening to spill yet again and she’s not in the mood for another stomachache. Instead, she turns her attention back to the stars. The breeze that breathes over them is soothing.

They don’t do much for the next couple of minutes, simply gazing at the stars, wrapped up in a thick blanket of companionable silence. It’s easy like this, next to Chat Noir: Ladybug doesn’t have to read into these gaps of quiet, instead settling into them—because with him, they’re simply natural.

When the dark settles in completely and the sky alights into a patchwork of stars, Chat speaks up.

“Ladybug,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t turn away from the sky. “Mm.”

“Isn’t it funny that we’re here because of Hawkmoth?”

She pauses her stargazing to look at her partner instead. “What do you mean?”

Chat gives a little shrug, slightly sheepish. “If this… if none of this happened, or if Master Fu ended up choosing somebody else, or a million other possibilities, would we have met? Maybe we’ve passed each other on the street a thousand times and never knew who the other was. That thought has always bothered me, but I’m just… I’m just so thankful right now I can sit with you like this, even with the masks between us. I’m thankful that every time I transform, I know that I’ll see you again. I hate Hawkmoth as much as any other Parisian, but perhaps I have him to thank, for letting me meet you like this. And I hope that no matter what my future will bring, you’ll still be there in it.”

Ladybug can handle the flirtatious remarks, the casual confessions he peppers her with. But this—this is much more intimate, something she can’t help but cradle close to her heart. “Chat—”

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he replies. “And that’s okay. But for so long, no one’s really cared about me like you have, m’lady, and you mean everything to me and I hope you know that.”

Words evade her for a couple of moments. Then Ladybug extends her hand to him, and Chat’s fingers slip around hers, interlocking. It feels right—it always feels right with him.

“Me too, chaton,” she whispers into the sky. “I’m so glad I met you, and I hope that you’ll be there too, in my future.”

She can see his smile in her periphery.

***

Her mother tells her that preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Ladybug is inclined to agree, but she thinks that sharing that meal together (and what happens afterwards) is what really makes it so.

Notes: Fics masterlist here! 

#miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #marinette #adrien agreste #fluff #ladynoir #mlb fic #my writing #happy birthday eden! i could go on forever abt how i love ur art but uh just know that u r honestly amazing <3

[artzychic27]

Evillustrator Part Deux

These people have some nerve. Barging into the art classroom, his safe space, the only place in school where he can be himself without people looking at him weirdly. He can be loud and goofy and show his art without fear of being judged. But they just had to ruin it. By 'they' he means his classmates. Not the smart ones like Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka. Yes, that sounded a little rude, but it was the truth! Ever since Lie-la came along with a big mouth full of lies, it's like the rest of the class had lost a good chunk of brain cells. He knows they're trying to be nice and accommodate for the 'disabled student', but they can't tell a con-artist when they see one!

Lila's been nothing but a thorn in the art club's side since she arrived, and all because they knew she was nothing but a lying, manipulative creature. So far, she's lied about Marinette doing a bunch of stuff she'd never do to her and almost got her expelled, Alix spray painting half of her wardrobe so Mylene, Sabrina, and Alya had to buy her more clothes with their money, Juleka cornering her in the bathroom and telling her to kill herself so the goth girl got detention she didn't deserve, and Rose stealing her lunch money which is how she afforded those cute new ballet flats and the other students had to buy Lila's lunch for her. Now it was Nathaniel's turn.

What has Lila said about him? She didn't really lie, but more like got on his bad side by suggesting he should find a new writer since Marc's work was "amateur", making little jabs at his art by saying loudly for the class to hear that her work has gotten many comic book artists' attention which then led to the class telling Lila that she should introduce them to Nathaniel. He said no, of course, since the artists were either dead or not real and they did not react well. They said he was rude, Lila was trying to help, and that's how he became one of the bullies of the classroom.

But then one morning, Lila told everyone that he stole her artwork. They were hesitant to believe her even despite believing Nathaniel was a bully since they knew he HATED art thieves with a passion, probably more than Marinette hated Hawkmoth. But when she showed them the hideously bright orange sketchbook with a crudely drawn cursive L on the cover in black sharpie and flipped through the pages slowly so the class could admire what Nathaniel realized was other artists' work he saw on Instagram that she was claiming as her own.

After seven long minutes, Lila finally stopped on a page that had the class immediately go off on Nathaniel when they recognized that it looked exactly like the art, the original art, on the school website. Alix and Marinette tried to defend him the best that they could, but the sausage-haired brat was a step ahead, saying that she sometimes brings her sketchbook to school and keeps it in her locker because she was always so nervous about what people would say about her art, and Nathaniel must've broken in, took a picture of the page, traced the art, and passed it off as his own. The class was torn, but they were leaning more towards Lila’s side because 'Why would Lila lie?'

Throughout the entire day, Nathaniel was forced to listen to the class asking if he was jealous of Lie-la's art being 'far better than his' (Her words), interrogating him to see if he stole anyone else's art, and they even had the gall to tell Mme. Bustier what Lila had told them. He missed his lunch and was instead tortured by Mme. Bustier lecturing HIM on why art theft is wrong, and that he needed to be the bigger person and apologize for stealing Lila's art. No matter how many times he explained to the woman that Lila lied, she just wouldn't listen! He had so much more respect for Marinette than he already did. She would go on and on about Mme. Bustier telling her to be an example and apologize when she was the one who was wronged. He was going to learn how to bake and make that girl some macarons. When she finally let him go, lunch was already over! Thank God Marc, the best boyfriend in the world saved him half of his sandwich and an apple. He did not apologize, and he had no intention of doing so.

The rest of the day was spent with his actual friends coming to his defense every five minutes when one of them would try and get him to apologize for stealing Lila's art. And when they weren't doing that, they were tracking down the people whose art was stolen by Lila when Mylene found the art Lila had traced on Instagram and Twitter. It's like they're her personal guard dogs. He wanted to knock some sense into them and go- what Lila inappropriately calls- 'feral-mode' on them; a nod to his bipolar disorder. Going against his instincts, he went to Mme. Bustier about what Lila had said about him being Bipolar, but she told him, 'Oh, but Lila doesn't understand your condition. It's your job to explain it to her.' ... He just wants Hawkmoth to come in here and have an Akuma pummel this woman.

Finally, the day was over, they were all gone, and he could now spend time with his friends and a real teacher without being yelled at or accused of being an art thief... For about seven minutes.

"Just apologize," Alya urged.

With a glare, Nathaniel yelled, "For the last. Damn. Time! I didn't steal any art!" Where was M. Haberkorn when you needed him?

"Then explain why Lila's art is in your sketchbook!" Kim demanded.

Lila sniffed, "Nath, if you're jealous of me, I could have-"

"Why the hell would I be jealous of you of all people?"

"Don't be so rude!"

"Why are you saying this stuff?"

"Lila didn't do anything to you!"

"Guys," Alix snapped her fingers to grab their attention and quiet them down, "Nathaniel loathes art thieves. Why would he steal someone else's art? And what would he have to gain from it? He's already the illustrator for one of the best damn comics in Paris, and he's won contests with some of his work." She shot the redhead a proud look before turning back to her classmates, "So do tell us. Why would Nathaniel steal another person's art?"

None of them could come up with an excuse. None of them except Lila just when the art club thought they had won, "Well, maybe he was just insecure," she ignored Nathaniel's offended look and continued, "I didn't want to say anything, but some students were looking at his art on the school website and said it seemed... Amateur compared to mine."

Marinette whispered to Juleka, "Oh, she did not just say the A-word."

Alix coughed into her fist, "Bullshit!"

Alya glared at the pinkette, "Stop ganging up on her!" She turns to Nathaniel, "And Nath, you need to stop being jealous of Lila just because some people prefer her art-"

"Will you shut up already?!" Nathaniel screamed, stunning his classmates at his outburst. "I am not jealous of Lila! I never will be jealous of her because there's nothing to be jealous over!”

Nathaniel let out a sigh. He didn't mean to yell, but they were all just so frustrating. He was telling the truth and they couldn't see it. They're choosing to believe a liar they've known only for a few months over someone they've known for years. They all knew Nathaniel was the resident class artist and not once has he stolen another person's art; it was a level he would never stoop to, not even if you paid or threatened him to.

"Dude, you need to chill," Nino calmly said.

"No, he doesn’t." Everyone turned to the source of the new voice and saw Marc standing at the doorway with his red pencil case. The art club students became relieved when they saw the writer. Marc was a reasonable, level-headed person who could find red flags easily. He'd talk some sense into them all and maybe their Lila nightmare would be over. During lunch, the art club explained to him why Nathaniel was missing, infuriating the green-eyed boy. Because of Rossi, his boyfriend was forced to miss lunch and endure a lecture by a teacher who should really consider pursuing a different career. "Nathaniel is not an art thief." He brushed past them and made his way over to his boyfriend before kissing his cheek.

"Marc, don't defend him just because he's your boyfriend," Mylene said. And in response, Marc rolled his eyes.

"Even if we weren't dating, I'd still defend him." He points to Nathaniel's sketchbook as if asking for permission to hold it. With a nod, Nathaniel hands Marc his sketchbook, and the writer flips through the pages until he stops on the page with the sketch that started this mess. On the page is a full-body sketch of Ladybug, running with her hair out of its pigtails and flowing through the breeze. It took all of Marinette's will-power to not blush when Nathaniel showed her and the others before posting it on the school's website. What she loved most was that she was not wearing a skin-tight bodysuit, but instead, she was wearing battle armor and actually had on shoes. Maybe she could ask Tikki for an upgrade on her current suit.

"Nathaniel always uses the same art style," Marc pointed out. "During lunch, I caught a look at some of the pages in Lila's sketchbook and noticed that she had about ten different art styles. The sketch she claims Nathaniel stole looks very similar to his usual style." Before Lila can defend herself, Marc continued, "And I also noticed that your line art is very dark."

Marinette realizes what her cousin is insinuating and adds, "He's right. Most line art is light so that when an artist makes a mistake, they can easily erase it." She smirks, "So, care to explain why your line art is so much darker compared to Nathaniel's?"

Lila stammered for a response, "I... We-well my wrist-" Before she could say anything else, Alya rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "You don't need to explain anything to them. We know your innocent." After nodding in agreement with Alya, the students headed out of the classroom. Alya pulled Lila out and didn't notice her smirking viciously at the art kids or Alix giving her double middle fingers.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Nathaniel sat down and rested his head on the table. "What is wrong with them?" he groaned. Rose patted his shoulder sympathetically, "It's okay, Nath."

Marinette shook her head, "I try to remind myself that it's not their fault; Lila's manipulating them, but it takes a lot to convince myself that."

Marc took the empty seat next to Nathaniel and brushed his bangs to the side so Nathaniel could see him. "Are you okay?" Nathaniel nodded and mumbled, "Thanks, Rainbow." With a smile, Marc kissed his forehead, slid Nathaniel's sketchbook toward him, and pulled out his journal, "Let's just enjoy the quiet while we still have it."

Juleka nodded as she grabbed her bass, "Yeah, maybe I'll just fake being sick tomorrow."

"Nope!" Alix exclaimed. "There's strength in numbers, Jules. If we all have to suffer, then so do you." Juleka responded by strumming a few cords on her bass.

The rest of the class, sans Chloe and Adrien, decided to spend the rest of their day, cool off from earlier, and cheer Lila up by getting some of André's ice cream. Poor Lila didn't have any money on her because she donated almost all of her cash to her favorite charity, one that helped children from lower-income families. Ivan, being a nice guy, paid for her cone and Lila promised she'd pay him back... Yeah, like that would ever happen. Five euros and all she got was plain vanilla because André couldn't see her being in a relationship with anyone.

"Girl, maybe he just messed up," Alya told her. "André is getting old."

Nino reluctantly nodded, "Yeah. Maybe that's it." He's been getting ice cream from André since he was five, and the man was never wrong. He predicted his first love by giving him cotton candy, peach, and blueberry ice cream, and his future love with tangerine, lemon, and raspberry. If André gives you vanilla, that's it. No love for you. 'But why would Lila end up without love?' he wondered. She's nice, charitable, always meeting exciting people. It confused him.

If Nino could hear what was going on through Lila's head, he'd take it all back. 'Stupid Marinette. Stupid Alix. Stupid Rose. Stupid Juleka. Stupid Marc. AND STUPID NATHANIEL! That idiot has some nerve going against me! Just wait, Kurtzberg. I'll ruin your reputation so bad that not even your freak boyfriend will look at you! With that spineless coward of a Principal on my side, I'll make sure no school will take you!' "Guys, this was sweet of you, but I just wanna go home," she said in a tone that contrasted her inner voice.

Alya smiled and pulled her in for a hug, not noticing the scowl on the Italian's face, "We understand. Maybe you can draw something to make you feel better."

'Yeah, I'll find a sucker on Instagram, make a few tweaks, and have you all eating out of the palm of my hand.' "Yeah," she sighed. "That always cheers me up. I'll see you all tomorrow!" She waved then headed off in the direction of her home. Then once she was out of view, she ran towards the school and threw her ice cream on the ground, not caring about the pigeon she just hit. She was not going to let that stupid redhead get away so easily. She already had a ton of sinister ideas going on in her head about what'd she'd do to Nathaniel the second she caught him alone and those art club brats aren't there to help him.

Once in the school, Lila waited around a corner for him. So that no one would suspect anything, she pretended to be texting on her phone. It took five minutes until finally, Nathaniel walked out of the classroom with his sketchbook in his hand. Lila's original plan was to jump him and drag him into an empty classroom so she could threaten him to comply with her or she’d drag his reputation through the mud, but Marc was with him. She couldn’t have witnesses, or this would never work. But then everything worked out in her favor. The idiot was too distracted by his boyfriend to notice her or that he dropped his sketchbook on the floor when trying to put it in his messenger bag.

She quickly picked up the sketchbook once they were gone, and darted for the locker room. She looked around to make sure no one was there and opened Nathaniel’s prized possession. She scowled at all of the drawings of Marinette with hearts around her. “Obviously has no taste,” she muttered scornfully then continued flipping through the pages full of drawings of Ladybug, and her frown worsened the more she looked. He should be drawing a REAL hero like Volpina. Then she found a few pages with drawings of that boyfriend of his.

“Disgusting,” she sneered, then immediately tore out the page with a drawing of the two boyfriends hugging. She aggressively threw the book to the floor and stomped on it with the dirt sole of her boot, tearing and crumpling a few pages and damaging the spine. She picked it back up and proceeded to tear out more pages before getting a cruel idea. She went into the girls’ bathroom, turned on the faucet, and dropped the sketchbook into the sink. A twisted smirk spread on her face as she watched the water turn an array of colors. Satisfied, she pulled it back out and turned off the water before leaving.

She wasn’t done just yet. She looked for Nathaniel’s locker, which was easy. All she had to do was open every locker until she found the one with photos of Marc taped inside. Lila gathered up the pages she tore out, crumpled them up, and threw them into the lockers along with Nathaniel’s ruined sketchbook. By the time he opened his locker tomorrow, the pages will be dry and everything he’s drawn will be unrecognizable. Slamming the locker door shut, Lila walked out of the locker room feeling proud of herself, but not before she added a little insult to injury and taped a sticky note with an insulting message onto Nathaniel’s locker door. Tomorrow morning, Nathaniel will learn what happens when you cross Lila Diabla Rossi.

Nathaniel was not having a great morning. He accidentally set his alarm clock for the wrong time last night and woke up and three in the morning. He couldn't go back to sleep so he decided to do some late-night sketching until he felt tired. The only problem was that he couldn't find his sketchbook. He wanted to tear his room apart and look for it, but he didn't want to risk waking up his mom and having her come in, wondering why he was up so early. So he waited until it was 7:00 am when his mom was up and getting ready for the day.

He looked all around his room but couldn't find his sketchbook anywhere. 'It could be worse,' he thought to himself. He lost his personal sketchbook and not the one he used for his and Marc's comic. Now that would be awful. But losing his personal sketchbook was just as bad and embarrassing. It still had some of the sketches he did of Marinette back when he had a crush on her and some fanart from animes he wasn't comfortable showing anyone except for Alix and Marc, who showed him some fanfiction that only he was allowed to read.

"Maybe I left it at school," Nathaniel told himself once it was pretty clear that his sketchbook was nowhere in his room. Taking a few breaths to calm down and assure himself that maybe someone found his sketchbook and took it to lost and found, he got ready for the day.

After getting showered and dressed, Nathaniel made his way downstairs to have breakfast with his mom. Hearing him walk into the kitchen, Aya looked away from the stove and greeted her son with a smile, “Morning, sweetie.” Despite Nathaniel smiling, she knew something was wrong. She could tell by the way he was clutching his messenger bag and darting his eyes around the room like he was looking for something. “Is everything alright?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Did something happen at school? Was it that Rossi girl?” Ever since Lila first lied about her son, Aya would always take some time out of her schedule to listen to him vent about the dreaded girl. And in Aya’s opinion, she sounded like a real nightmare in need of a spanking.

“Yeah, but she’s not what I’m upset about,” he answered. “I can’t find my sketchbook. The black one?”

Aya immediately turned off the stove and went to hug him. Nathaniel loved that sketchbook. His father got it for him when he was seven and used up all of his other sketchbooks. It was one of the things he had to remember him by. “Well, maybe it’s at school. I’m sure you’ll find it, sweetie.” Seeing him smile, Aya kissed his forehead and went back to making breakfast, “Now go sit down sweetie; the hash browns are almost done.”

With a nod, Nathaniel sat at the table and thought to himself over and over, ‘You’ll find it, you’ll find it, you’ll find it.’

When he arrived at school, Nathaniel only had fifteen minutes to look for his sketchbook until class starts. He rushed into the library where the lost and found box was stored and asked the librarian for access to it. He took Nathaniel into the break room where a large bin sat in the corner of the room between two shelves filled with items too large to go in the bin. Quickly, he sifted through or tossed aside anything that wasn't his sketchbook. Textbooks, jewelry, one shoe, pants, a purse, but no sketchbook. With a frustrated groan, he put the items he tossed back in the bin so the librarian wouldn't get on his case for messing up the break room. "Where is it?!" Once out of the library, he kicked a wall in frustration and continued to look around for his sketchbook.

He remembered walking out of the art classroom with it, so it wasn't in there. If it fell out of his bag, someone must’ve found it. But why didn’t they take it to the lost and found? Maybe they put it back in his locker. None of the lockers have locks, so if a student finds something that another student lost, they put it in that student’s locker. Maybe someone did that. He still had seven minutes left, so he ran down the stairs, moved through crowds of students in the courtyard, and went into the locker room.

Once at his locker, Nathaniel furrowed his brown in confusion when he saw the orange sticky note stuck to his locker door. He took it down and read it, “‘You deserve this.’”

Still confused and a little anxious by what the note meant, Nathaniel slowly opened his locker, expecting a bucket of paint to fall on top of him or a spring-loaded boxing glove to knock a couple of his teeth out… This was way worse. There at the bottom of his locker was a dingy black book with crispy pages like someone had poured water on it and left it to dry in his locker. He found a few crumpled pieces of paper and unfurled them. He felt like he needed to throw up. These were sketches of Marc, Marinette, and some rough sketches for comics. He realized that they were from his sketchbook and a look of dread spread across his face when he realized that the dried-up book in his locker was actually his sketchbook.

“No, no, no, no!” He quickly took it out and tried flipping through the pages to see if anything had been salvaged, but he could barely turn them without a piece breaking off due to the dry paper. He flipped to the back of his ruined sketchbook and immediately started crying. There was smudged writing that he could barely read, but he could make out what was written at the bottom, ‘Make something amazing, kid. -Dad’ He clutched the book close to his chest and slowly slid down his locker and sat on the floor where he silently cried to himself.

The butterflies fluttered around as the window opened and illuminated on Hawkmoth. He smirked cunningly when he felt a powerful wave of emotions coming from Francoise Dupont. The Akuma hotspot.

“Such feelings of rage, and even more of sorrow.” He beckons for a pure white butterfly to land in his open palm. “This poor, disturbed boy.” He covers the butterfly with his other hand and fills it with dark magic using the Miraculous. Hawkmoth uncovers the butterfly, now an Akuma, and it flutters out of the window. “Fly away my beautiful Akuma, and evilize that boy!”

The Akuma flew over the city and towards the school where its target was. It phased through the walls so no students or teachers would see it, and went into the locker room where Nathaniel was still crying. He lifted his head up at the sound of its wings flapping and with a yelp, he got up and ran around the room to avoid the Akuma. Soon, he was backed into a corner with no way out. He turned his head away from the Akuma and shut his eyes tight as the evil butterfly merged with his sketchbook and turned it pitch black. The glowing, purple Akuma symbol appeared over his face. Nathaniel gripped his hair as Hawkmoth spoke to him, “Welcome back, Evillustrator.”

“Stop it,” he cried. “Not now.”

Hawkmoth paid close attention to the emotions he was feeling right now. It was mainly anger from having his sketchbook destroyed, but he was also grieving. A feeling Hawkmoth knew all too well. He could see the Akumatized object in his head and saw the damage that had been done to it. As a fellow patron of the arts, he knew the importance of a sketchbook to an artist. But there was something special about this one. Perhaps someone he lost gifted it to him. He spoke, “But why not? I too understand the pain of losing a loved one. Let me help you.”

“You’re not going to help me.”

“But I will. That sketchbook must mean something to you. Don’t you wish to find the one responsible?”

"..." Nathaniel’s look of fear morphed into a scowl when he realized who could have done this, “Yes.”

Hawkmoth smiled, “I won’t stand in your way this time. As long as you bring me the Miraculous, you may use your powers however you please. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, Hawkmoth.” Black mist bubbled up from his sketchbook and engulfed him. Seconds later, Evillustrator stood in place of Nathaniel with an upgraded outfit. His windswept hair is brighter and more vibrant, fading from orange to purple, to black. He had on a white v-neck tailcoat with four dark purple stripes and three circles colored red, yellow, and blue printed on, a black shirt that had darker cuffs with red, yellow, and blue buttons and a red swan neck collar, white gloves, purple pants, and red boots with a slight heel.

He lifted his right arm where his tablet was attached, tucked his repaired, dark purple sketchbook under his arm, and began drawing. Materializing out of thin air was a fake Nathaniel. With a smirk, Evillustrator handed the Akumatized object over to him and said, “You know what to do.” With a nod, fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook to an empty page and pressed it to Evillustrator’s chest. Immediately, he disappeared in a flash of purple light. Nathaniel turned the book towards him and saw a sketch of Evillustrator motioning for him to leave. He closed the book and made his way to class.

Lila tried very hard to suppress a scowl when she saw the fake Nathaniel walking into the classroom with the sketchbook, she was so sure that she destroyed it. Was it all just a wonderful dream? No! She knew she destroyed that thing! But, wasn’t it black? She needed to destroy it so that redhead would learn his place. Before she could make her way to his and Marinette’s desk in the back, Mme. Bustier walked in, “Alright class, take your seats!”

‘Later,’ she thought to herself then went to her seat next to Alya.

Mme. Bustier began writing on the board, "Today, we'll- OW!" Out of nowhere, a baseball hit the side of her head, much to the shock of the class. She picked up the ball while rubbing the side of her head, "Where did this come from?"

Lila immediately shot her hand up and pointed to the back, "I bet it was Marinette!"

"I am way back here and it hit the side of her head!" She yelled, "If I had thrown that ball, it would have nailed her right in the back of the head!" The students on her side and the students on Lila's side got into a heated argument. Adrien tried to calmly tell Lila's side that Alix was right, but they just talked over him. Chloe, who didn't care, filed her nails. Mme. Bustier clapped her hands, trying to grab their attention, "Class, please!" They settled down, making her let out a breath of relief. "Now, Alix is right about the ball hitting me on the side," Alix shot Lila a victorious smirk. "We'll figure out who did this later, but let's just get to our lesson." She set the baseball down on her desk, eyeing it warily before turning back to the board.

Marinette rolled her eyes. It was way too early for Lila to be pulling this kind of crap. Also, where did that baseball come from? The windows aren't open, so it didn't come from outside. She turned to Nathaniel, intending to ask what he thought. None of the art club students really paid attention to Mme. Bustier's lessons since she rarely taught anything. And when she was teaching, Lila would steer the lesson over to an hour-long discussion about how she was related to some major historical figure. Marinette was pretty sure Vlad the Impaler and Catherine the Great weren't related.

Before she could say anything, she noticed him just staring at a page in his sketchbook. Just staring, not drawing. She couldn't see what he was looking at because he was holding the front cover of the book up. And what's even weirder was that he seemed to be nodding. When he saw her staring, he immediately closed his sketchbook and turned his attention to the front.

'Strange,' Marinette thought to herself then continued half-listening to the lesson.

Ten more minutes in, and Lila was telling a story about being the distant relative of some witch hunter from the Salem witch trials in the states. This allowed the art club kids to text each other on their group chat while everyone ate up whatever Lila said. But Marinette made a new group chat without Nathaniel.

Something's Up

Alix: Care 2 explain??

Rose: Is something wrong?

Juleka: You forgot Nathaniel.

Marinette: That's what this is about. There's something... Off about him today.

Alix: Oh, thank God! I thought I was the only one who noticed.

Rose: What's wrong with Nathaniel???

Alix: He's just all zoned out or something.

Marinette: I caught him nodding at his sketchbook.

Alix: I don't even recognize that one. All his sketchbooks usually have designs on them but that one is just solid purple. 🤔

Juleka: Now that you mention it... When everyone was arguing about the baseball, I noticed he didn't say or do anything. Just stared at his sketchbook.

Rose: That's odd.

Marinette: Maybe he's having an off day?

Alix: I did see him bump into the door frame when he walked into the classroom. So... Off day?

Juleka: Off day.

Rose: 👉🏻Off day👈🏻

Marinette: Off Day. Okay, Lila's wasted twenty minutes and we have two minutes left of class... Any weekend plans?

Rose: Family reunion! Can't wait!

Juleka: Luka and I are gonna watch a bunch of trashy high school movies from America. I'm interested in this one called The Outcasts.🍿🎥

Alix: Promised Jalil I'd do some nerd stuff with him.🤓

Marinette: Baking 🥐, sewing 🧵, typical day.

BRRRRIIIIIIING!

Marinette: And once again, we've learned nothing.

Alix: Ah, the glorious history of nothing.

Rose: My cousin majored in the Fundamentals of Nothing.

The students gathered their things and headed to their next class. As Nathaniel was packing, Mme. Bustier called out, "Nathaniel, can you stay for a minute?"

"Are you gonna be okay?" Marinette asked. At fake Nathaniel's nod, she left with the others, leaving him and Mme. Bustier alone.

The first thing she said was, "Nathaniel, I hope you apologized to Lila." When he didn't answer and just stared at her blankly, she sighed, "Nathaniel, I understand that you're upset."

"Upset doesn't even begin to describe how I feel, Caline!"

"But it's not Lila's fault," "Excuse me?!" "She just wants to make friends, and by antagonizing her," "You mean exposing an art thief?" "you'll be preventing her from doing so. Now, I expect you to apologize to Lila before the end of the day." "Or else, what, Caline?!"

The fake Nathaniel opened the sketchbook slightly, and immediately, a flaming arrow shot out of it and was dangerously close to hitting Mme. Bustier's foot. She looked at the redhead in shock before slowly backing away as he opened his sketchbook. "N-Nathaniel, wh-what are you- Aah!" The fake has pressed a blank page on her arm, and she disappeared with a scream. He turned the sketchbook towards him and there was Caline Bustier, now a pencil sketch hitting her fists against the paper and screaming to be let out. She was silenced by fake Nathaniel turning to the page with Evillustrator.

"Make sure there are none of those idiots left." With a nod, the fake shut the sketchbook and left just before the next class arrived.

Seventeen minutes in Mendelieve's class were spent learning about physics until the science teacher left once M. Damocles made an announcement over the PA system, telling the teachers to report to his office. That left Lila to take over and talk more and more about herself without the science teacher telling her to stay silent and pay attention. The art club was just minding their business in the group chat but listened closely when Lila started spewing lies about her famous artist uncle. They knew where this was going, and Alix got ready to fight tooth and nail for her friend. Finally, Lila brought up what happened yesterday, causing the students to give the fake Nathaniel wary looks or glares

"So," Kim said as he approached fake Nathaniel. "are you finally going to apologize for stealing Lila's art?"

Marinette huffed, "Guys, for the last time, Lila is lying! Nathaniel is not an art thief!"

"Well, let’s just see if that’s true," Alya said as she pulled out her phone to record and expose Nathaniel as an art thief. Before she could grab the sketchbook out of his hands, her phone was wiped away from existence. "MY PHONE! Where'd it go?!" Fake Nathaniel looked down at the sketchbook and smirked because he knew Evillustrator had something to do with that.

Alya continued to look for her phone, "It just disappeared out of thin air!" she exclaimed as she looked under the desk, believing she dropped it and didn't notice. "How does that just happen?!" As she and a few other students continued searching for her phone, Mme. Mendelieve walked back into class with a look of concern to replace her usually stoic face.

"Class, you wouldn't happen to know where Caline went, would you?" she asked. Everyone either shook their heads or said no. "Odd. No one can find her, When her next class went in, she was gone." She looks to the fake Nathaniel, "Nathaniel, you were the last to leave. Did she say she'd be going anywhere?" The fake looked like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. He instead shook his head. With a sigh, Mendelieve continued, "If she's not found or we don't hear from her in two hours, the school day will end early so the teachers can call the police to conduct an investigation." There were some scattered whispers. "I'm sure Caline is fine. Now, let's finish the lesson." The students who were helping Alya look for her phone comply and sit back down in their seats, but Alya kept searching for her phone, "Alya, sit down."

"But I can't find my phone," she said. "It just disappeared right out of my hand!"

"Miss Cesaire, you can try to look for it later," she said sternly. "But right now, we need to continue our lesson. Sit down." Alya reluctantly did so, and Mme. Mendleieve resumed what she was teaching the class before Damocles made his announcement. While she taught, Alix glanced over at the fake staring down at his sketchbook like Marinette said he was earlier. It was so weird. He was just staring and not doing anything. And how did Mme. Bustier just suddenly disappear without a trace?

Thirty minutes passed, and the students headed to lunch while Alya stayed behind to look for her phone with Nino helping her.

Fake Nathaniel managed to slip away from Marinette, Alix, Rose, and Juleka who were walking to the cafeteria as a group, something they did in case Lila tried anything, and he was now hiding in the locker room where Evillustrator was giving him instructions. “Kim often goes to the pool during lunch to practice,” he whispered. "Get him when he comes in." Right as he said this, the door was heard opening. The fake peered around the locker he was hiding behind and saw the athlete walking in and going to his locker. No witnesses were around. He opened the sketchbook to a blank page and sneaked over towards the athlete as he was pulling his gym bag out of his locker with some struggle.

When Kim finally managed to pull his bag out, it slipped out of his hands. The force he used flung the bag behind him, and it hit the sketchbook, making it disappear. Kim looked around to see where his bag went but only saw the fake, who shut the sketchbook before Kim could see what was on the pages. "O-oh. Hey, Nath." When he didn't answer, Kim sighed. "Silent treatment. Deserved that; I get it. Look, man I-I don't want to believe you stole Lila's art, but uh... I mean, why would Lila lie?"

"Because she's evil! Get him, now!"

"Still upset with me, huh?" He chuckled when the fake still didn't say anything.

"You have three seconds. Three."

"Again, I wanna believe you didn't do it."

"Two."

"But you and the girls have been kinda... Antagonizing her a bit?"

"One!"

The fake immediately clutched his left hand like he was in pain, getting Kim concerned. "Nath, what's wrong?!" He uncovered the fake's hand and was repulsed to find that his fingers were starting to vanish. "Oh my God!" Before he could say or do more, the fake mouthed, 'I'm sorry'. Then he opened the sketchbook and pressed the blank page to Kim's face. He disappeared with a scream. Fake Nathaniel dropped the sketchbook in favor of clutching his fingerless hand. The akumatized object was opened to the page with Evillustrator's angry glare, "Hesitate next time, and I'll erase your arm!”

The fake nodded frantically before letting out a sigh as Evillustrator drew on his tablet, making his fingers reappear. As he headed to the door, he heard a slight shuffling sound and turned around to see Myléne standing right outside the girls’ bathroom with her mouth agape.

”N-Nathaniel?” Myléne stammered as she began to slowly back away.

Fake Nathaniel approached her with the sketchbook opened to a blank page. Another silent ‘Sorry’, and Myléne was gone and trapped in the sketchbook. He flipped the pages back to Evillustrator, “Better. Now don’t stop until you have Rossi and those assholes!” The fake didn't want to do this, but he had to; it was how he was drawn. He was made to be a pawn in his creator's revenge plot, but he didn't want to do that. Evillustrator gave him the same personality he had pre-Akumatization, so this just felt wrong to him, but he couldn't go against his commands.

When fake Nathaniel nodded, Evillustrator arched an eyebrow and asked, "Can you speak?" He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but nothing came out. He shook his head. Evillustrator started drawing on his tablet, "Hold still." Fake Nathaniel's throat glowed a bright purple before dimming. "Say something."

"S... So... Some... Ting. S-something?"

"So glad I caught that. Now go!" Immediately, the fake put the sketchbook back into his messenger bag and left.

“Hey, Nath,” Marc greeted the fake as he sat down at their lunch table.

Fake Nathaniel smiled. He had his real counterpart's personality and all of his memories, so he knew exactly how to act and what to say (Now that he had a voice). “Hey, Rainbow.” He kisses Marc’s cheek and ignores the stinging sensation he’s feeling in his hand as one of his fingers is being erased. Evillustrator made him and can easily destroy him if he does something he doesn’t like. Apparently, kissing Marc is one of them.

”So, where were you?” Alix asked as she popped a grape in her mouth.

“Oh, I-I remembered that I left my locker open, and went to close it,” he fibbed.

“No point in that, Nath,” she shrugged. “Anyone can just go in and take whatever’s in a locker."

Marinette nodded in agreement, remembering her expulsion, then asked, “So, what do you guys think happened to Mme. Bustier? She couldn’t have suddenly disappeared; we all just saw her.”

Alix leaned back in her seat, uncaring, “Does it really matter? I think we could all use a break from her.” Juleka nodded, “Maybe Mendeleiev will be our substitute and actually put Lila in her place.”

”One can dream,” Rose sighed as she leaned on Juleka, making the goth girl wrap her arm around the blonde.

Juleka looked around the room. She furrowed her brow then asked, “That’s weird. Kim and Mylène aren’t here.”

”Well, Kim probably went to the pool,” Alix said as she looked for the activist. “But where’s Myléne?”

”Maybe she-“ Before Marc could finish what he was about to say, the doors slammed against the wall as Alya stormed in with Nino trailing close behind.

”Nino, a phone doesn’t just disappear like that!” she exclaimed. “There’s probably an Akuma around here!” Immediately, the cafeteria broke out into whispers about if Alya was right about the Akuma. “And Mme. Bustier suddenly disappearing? Explain that. She wouldn’t just ditch her job like that.”

”Tell it to the person doing most of her work,” Marinette muttered, making the students at the table laugh. Mme. Bustier would always force Marinette to do her work for her and say that they’re the duties of the class representative when really, the woman is just lazy to do the work herself. And when Marinette refuses, Bustier will use the ‘I’m disappointed in you’ voice until Marinette complied.

”You think this is funny?!” Lila whined. “Mme. Bustier and Myléne are missing, and it’s probably because there’s probably an Akuma loose in the school!”

Alix groaned, “Mind your own business, Rossi!” A couple of the students that were on Marinette’s side snickered. “And it’s called making light of a situation. Less negativity, fewer Akumas. You're welcome.”

”Why are you guys always so rude to me?” Alya asked before pointing to Marinette, “First you let your jealousy cloud your judgment,” then to Juleka, “you’re always telling Lila to kill herself,” Alix, “you ruined her clothes,” Rose, “you stole her money,” then Nathaniel, “and you plagiarized her art because you’re jealous of her, too! Why do you guys hate her so much?”

”Because she’s a liar,” Marc murmured. "Simple as that."

“I’m not!” Lila yelled with fake tears in her eyes that masked the glare she was sending the boy. “Why does no one believe me?!” Sabrina went to console her.

”We believe you, girl,” Alya reassured. “And we’re gonna prove you’re innocent...” Her eyes trailed to Nathaniel’s messenger bag, “Starting by proving Nathaniel did steal your art!”

Before the fake artist could react, Alya already had his messenger bag in her hands and now the akumatized sketchbook. “Lila, get your sketchbook, we’re gonna...” Her voice trailed off when she saw the moving sketches of Mme. Bustier, Kim, and Mylène, begging to be freed. The other students gathered around Alya and looked in horror at students and teacher trapped in the sketchbook.

Max pointed at the fake, “You-you’re the Akuma!”

With a sneer, he snatched the sketchbook out of Alya’s hands and pressed a blank page to Max’s face. He disappeared and was now trapped inside the sketchbook, alarming the students.

“Th-the sketchbook’s g-gotta be an Amok,” Nino stammered as he pulled Alya away from the fake. “H-he doesn’t even look like an Akuma!”

“There’s no Amok, and I’m not the Akuma.” He flips to the page with Evillustrator. “He is.” As the students stood in shock, the fake tore out the page, and it glowed a bright purple before morphing into Evillustrator, glaring menacingly at the Akuma Class.

”N-Nath?” Marc stammered as he cautiously approached his Akumatized boyfriend.

“Then who’s he?!” Alix grabbed the fake's wrist to prevent him from running and glared at him.

Evillustrator scoffed. ”He's not important.” Then, much to the fake's horror, he put the eraser to his tablet.

”No! Wait!” The fake cried as he was erased from existence, horrifying the students, Marc especially. The sketchbook dropped to the floor with a thud.

“H-how did-“

”Ask her!” He points a shaky finger at the Italian girl. “You,” he draws a lock on his tablet, “will not get away with what you did!” A couple of students, Marinette being one of them, managed to escape the cafeteria right before Multiple locks appeared on the doors, making it impossible for the others to get out unless they were crazy enough to jump out of the window.

”I-I didn’t do anything!” She lied while rubbing her eyes to look like she’s crying again. “Why are you trying to hurt me, Nathaniel?!”

”It’s Evillustrator, now!” He drew a missile on his tablet, and that same missile appeared next to him. The students ran for the doors and tried to pull the locks off, but they were too strong. “NO ONE LEAVES UNTIL SHE’S GONE!” He points his pen towards Lila, and the missile goes after her as she runs around the cafeteria screaming for help. Seeing that they weren't going to get out of this, the remaining students ducked under tables and chairs.

Ismael and Ivan ran towards Evillustrator to try and grab the pen, remembering how that was the Akumatized object last time Nathaniel was Akumatized. Quickly, he jumped out of the way, causing the two boys to collide and fall to the floor, groaning in pain. Evillustrator grabs the sketchbook off the floor and pressed a blank page on them, making the two boys disappear into the sketchbook.

Seeing that the missile was getting closer to her, Sabrina quickly got up from under a table and tackled Lila to the floor before the missile could hit her. It instead crashed into a wall, creating a massive hole that allowed the students to escape. The art club students stayed behind, though, hoping that they could calm their akumatized friend down. Evillustrator was about to run after them, but Akux grabbed his wrist.

”Nath, wait!” she pleaded while trying to not look like she’s afraid of the enraged Akuma that used to be her best friend. “Let’s just talk about this, okay? What did Lila do to you?”

Evillustrator’s glare softened as he looked into Alix's eyes. He needed to get his revenge on Lila but she was keeping him from doing that... “Forgive me, Alix.”

”What?”

Before Alix knew it, she was trapped in the sketchbook, shocking the remaining members of the art club. Marc was about to approach him, but Evillustrator held his sketchbook close to his face, making the writer back away. “Don’t make me do something I will regret, Rainbow,” he warned then ran out of the cafeteria.

Many of the students took refuge in the locker room, their main place to hide during Akuma attacks in the school. They begged Damocles for months to actually build some sort of Akuma safety shelter in the school, but it was always the same thing, 'There's not enough money in the budget.' Well, there certainly was enough for him to create a secret compartment hidden behind the wall for his Owl stuff. Thinking about how much of the money they made during fundraisers being spent by him to create those toy weapons often gave the students horrible headaches.

The students flinched when they heard Evillustrator's booming voice from the second floor of the school, “WHERE ARE YOU LILA?!” A few brave students looked out the window and saw Evillustrator erasing the walls to every classroom he passed by. “YOU’RE WEAK, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He erases the door to a storage closet, revealing two very scared students cowering at the sight of him. The students not targeted by him couldn't help but feel sorry for the Akuma. Whatever Lila did must have been awful to make Nathaniel this upset.

With a frustrated yell, Evillustrator got the two students with his sketchbook. Once they were gone, he jumped down from the second floor and into the courtyard, making the students get away from the window, hoping he didn't see them. Jean Duparc looked around to make sure everyone was safe or not doing anything to attract the Akuma. A few were nervously biting their nails or twirling their hair, others were texting their parents, and next to him, Aurore and Mireille were updating their blog, 'BugOut & CatChat'. Instead of recording Akuma battles like Alya with the Ladybug, they analyzed the akumas and gave descriptions of their powers, let the public know of the Akuma's location so they could avoid it and so Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn't find it. And just for laughs, they critiqued Hawkmoth's fashion choices for Akumas. So far, there was nothing about Evillustrator's new outfit that needed critiquing. He bumped Trouble Maker down to 2nd place on the 'Best Dressed Akuma' list.

“Come out now, or so help me, I will-!” He stepped to the side when Ladybug’s YoYo flew right past him and retracted back to the spotted heroine standing at the top of the stairs. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, you pest!”

Chat Noir dropped in next to Ladybug, “Well, what’s got him so steamed up?”

“Lila,” she groaned, making Chat roll his eyes in annoyance at the mention of the liar. He's given that girl enough chances, as Chat and as Adrien. He was done. ”Let’s get this over with.”

The two heroes ran towards Evillustrator and were already dodging giant boxing gloves, buzz saws, and pitchforks drawn by him. Ladybug threw her yoyo, which he ducked under then drew something on his tablet. A hole that Ladybug would’ve fallen into if Chat Noir hadn’t grabbed her hand in time appeared under her feet.

Evillustrator drew two more buzz saws and sent them at the heroes. Chat Noir quickly got in front of Ladybug and spun his staff, making it act like a shield that deflected the saws. One sliced through the middle of a bench, revealing Lila. He smirked, "FOUND YOU!" He threw his sketchbook at Lila, but she ran out of the way and it hit one half of the bench before coming back to him like a boomerang. Evillustrator continues throwing his sketchbook at the liar while also drawing projectiles whenever the sketchbook was out of his hands. The first round of projectiles was easily deflected by Ladybug and Chat Noir, but there were just too many on their second round. One of them gets one of Ladybug's pigtails, cutting off a few inches and making her hair look weird. Another one nicked Chat on the ankle. He whispered a curse and clutched his ankle.

With Chat Noir subdued, Ladybug had to protect both of them and deflect the rest of the projectiles while Evillustrator went after Lila. As he chased her up the stairs, Evillustrator drew a couple of darts that pinned Lila to a wall by embedding them through her clothes. As she struggled to get free, Evillustrator calmly approached her while drawing on his tablet. "Don't look so afraid Lila. You had this coming after what you did."

"I didn't do anything!" she screamed. "It's not my fault that people like my art better than your-" She's silenced by a cleaver appearing in Evillustrator's hands.

He chuckled darkly, "I am going to enjoy this." After aiming for her head, he threw the cleaver. Lila turned her head away, believing that the cleaver hitting the side of her head would be less painful than it hitting her face. She waited, but the cleaver never came, and there was a 'clank' sound. Lila opened an eye and saw that Chat Noir, being supported by Ladybug, had deflected the cleaver with his staff.

"Took you long enough!" she complained. "Get me down from here!"

Ladybug took a deep breath as she assessed the situation. She could either be a hero and save Lila, or still be a hero and rid the world of Lila... 'Fine!' She made her way over to the sausage-haired girl and slowly took out the darts, and was clearly trying to keep herself from stabbing Lila with the very sharp ends. Once the last dart was removed, Lila pushed Ladybug into Chat, making him stumble a bit and lose his composure before making a run for it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Evillustrator yelled, enraged. He grabbed Chat's staff while the leather-clad hero was still gripping it, and flung him over the railing, making him fall and crash onto the hard courtyard floor.

"Chat!" Ladybug called out. Angered, she threw her yoyo at the Akuma, but he caught it and opened his sketchbook, much to Ladybug's horror. Before the weapon could make contact with the page, Chat's staff extended and the end hit the side of Evillustrator's face. He fell to the floor and clenched his jaw. With him down, Ladybug ran for the sketchbook, only for a glass wall to appear between her, the Akumatized object, and Evillustrator. He drew something else on his tablet, and multiple swords appeared, all pointed at Ladybug.

"Stay out of my way!" He growled. Ladybug swung all around the courtyard as the swords chased after her. Seeing that there were still some students around, she led the swords into an empty classroom and proceeded to dodge them there. Seeing Chat Noir about to vault over to him, Evillustrator drew a giant boxing glove that knocked Chat down to the floor. He was in the middle of drawing an anvil when suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up to see who had the nerve to stop him, but his anger diminished when he saw that it was Marc. "Rainbow, what are you doing?"

"Nath, you gotta stop!" Marc pleaded as he intertwined his and Evillustrator's hands.

"You don't know what she did, Marc!" He exclaimed. "You weren't there! Now let me go!" He tried to pull his hand out of Marc's grasp, but the writer wasn't letting go. 'Rossi's getting away! I can't let her get away with this!' With some reluctance, Evillustrator raised his sketchbook and tried hard to ignore the sad look in Marc's eyes. Just as he was about to press the page to his chest, Marc was pushed to the side, and the page instead was pressed to Rose's face, making her disappear into the sketchbook.

"ROSE!" Juleka and Marc cried out.

Evillustrator hit his fist on the metal railing in anger, "DAMN IT! SEE WHAT ROSSI'S MAKING ME DO?!" Hurridly, he drew a jetpack that appeared on his back. He pointed to Chat, "If you or Ladybug get in my way again, I WILL ERASE YOU BOTH FROM EXISTENCE!" Before he took off, he noticed Alya peering from around a corner. She was recording the fight using Nino's phone. When she noticed his eyes on her, she quickly made a run for it, but Evillustrator was faster. He hoisted the journalist over his shoulder.

"You're coming with me!" he yelled. "I want you to be there when Lila finally gets what's coming to her!"

"Wh-what are you- AH!"

Evillustrator flew out of the school just as Ladybug ran out of the classroom with her pigtails missing a couple of inches, one side strand missing, and some cuts on her face. She knew Evillustrator was a dangerous Akuma. He nearly drowned her and Chat and almost killed Chloe with a buzzsaw, but this was next level brutal. Hearing a groan, she looked and saw Chat Noir slowly climbing up the stairs with a slight limp. "Chat, are you okay?"

He shook his head, "No, m'lady. He got my ankle bad."

"Ladybug, Chat Noir!" Nino called out as he and Sabrina approached the two in-pain heroes. "Are you two okay?"

Ladybug gave a nod, "Yeah, we're fine. And don't worry Nino, we'll get Alya back."

Nino let out a breath of relief before Sabrina said to Ladybug, "Hey, after you were helping Lila down, I-I saw her push you. A-and before that, she sounded so rude when you were trying to help her." Ladybug frowned at that. She's saved that girl's butt so many times, and not once has she shown any gratitude. "Are you two having a fight, or-"

"No. We're not."

"Then why-"

Chat cut Nino off, "They're not friends, okay? Never have been, never will be."

"... Lila was lying?" Sabrina whispered to herself.

"And the sun sets in the west," Juleka muttered, making Marc give her a little nudge with his elbow.

The two bespectacled students cast each other looks of disbelief. Lila was lying about being friends with Ladybug, and she pushed the heroine into Chat, knowing he was injured and trying to fight Evillustrator. If she lied about that, what else could she have lied about? Pulling them out of their thoughts was Aurore and Mireille running over to Ladybug and Chat Noir with their phones.

"Ladybug! Chat Noir!" Mireille called out. "Alya's live-streaming right now." She hands the spotted heroine her phone, and the screen showed a live stream of the Ladyblog. Alya was in an odd position with a look of clear terror on her face that she was trying to mask with a brave smile. "He-hey, viewers! So, I am..." She looks down, and her eyes bulge before she looks back at the camera, "About a hundred feet above the ground right now, and I have nothing to hold onto! B-but don't worry. I mean, I'm slung over an Akuma's shoulder like a sack of flour, but at least he's not handsy like Pharaoh." She panned the phone to Evillustrator. "Care to comment?"

Evillustrator looks to the phone with an enraged look. "Lila Rossi, if you're watching this, I will find you! Be sure of it! And I might consider letting you live if Ladybug and Chat Noir hand over their Miraculous!"

Marc felt a tear about to escape out of the corner of his eye. What did Lila do to Nathaniel?

Alya panned the phone back to her horrified face. The fear of falling from a great height didn't phase her anymore. Now she was scared of the possibility of seeing an Akuma murder someone. Finally, much to her relief, they landed on a balcony.

"Wh-what are you doing here?!" A woman yelled.

Ladybug paused the video, "Thanks, you guys." She turns to Chat, "You gonna be okay?"

Chat gives her a thumbs up, "I'll be fine." He extends his baton, ready to vault out of the school. "Let's go!"

The two heroes swing and vault out of the school and head over to where Evillustrator is, leaving Lila's former followers to awkwardly stand with her haters.

"... We tried to tell you," Marc told Nino and Sabrina after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Evillustrator, this is going too far! Let her go!"

Evillustrator glared at the Italian woman tied up and gagged on a couch. Floating over her were about ten daggers, all of the blades sharpened to a deadly point. "Yes, spare the mother of a demon spawn," he said sarcastically. "You said that you'd stay out of my way!" He turns to Alya, who's trying to inch out of the room. "Don't. Go. Anywhere. And keep rolling! Let's see if Lila Rossi is all she claims to be."

Mme. Rossi lets out a loud muffled response. The Akuma approaches her and rips the duct tape off of her mouth, making her let out a pained yell. "What are you talking about?! What does this have to do my daughter?!"

Evillustrator gives the woman a pitiful look. It's sad how this woman doesn't know what her daughter has been up to. Well, now she'll know.

"MAMA!"

"Perfect timing," Evillustrator smirked as Lila ran up the stairs and into the living room.

"Mama, don't listen to him! He's an Akuma, and he's trying to hurt me!"

Evillustrator chuckled, "Well, that's not the whole story, is it?" He turns to Alya, still recording, "Paris, let's see how committed to her lies, Lila is. Would she put her own mother in danger just to avoid the consequences?" He approaches the scared and very confused woman. "Irene Rossi, your daughter has been claiming many things recently. Confirm a few things for me, okay?" Irene nods frantically. "Great. And if Lila tries to save face, then... I'm so sorry she's your daughter." He draws a ball and chain something on his tablet. That same one appears around Lila's ankle, preventing her from escaping. "Now, Irene. Tell us, have you ever met Prince Ali?"

Irene furrowed her brow in confusion. 'What is he talking about?' She shook her head, no. "What are you-"

"He's trying to make me look bad, mama!" Lila wailed. "Please, don't answer whatever he asks! It's a trick!"

"Damn, Lila," Evillustrator whispered. "I thought you loved your mother." He pointed to one of the daggers, and at his command, it dropped down, dangerously close to hitting Irene's shoulder and embedding itself into the couch cushion. All three women and everyone watching the Ladyblog Livestream let out horrified gasps. "This is what happens when you lie," he taunted. "So, you've never met Prince Ali? So, that would mean Lila's never worked on Go Green charities with him."

"What?!" Irene shrieked. "Prince Ali doesn't even work with Go Grene charities! He's devoted his time to helping children! Lila, what have you been telling people?"

Before the brunette has a chance to speak, Evillustrator interrupts, "Next question. Are you the descendant of a fox hero named Volpina?" Alya's jaw dropped at that question. "Did anyone in the family ever pass along a necklace with a fox-tail pendant down to Lila?"

Irene shook her head, "No! No one hasn't!" She glares at Lila, "The only family heirloom passed down is a wedding veil with the brides' names stitched on!"

"M-maybe you just didn't know about it!" Lila lied, much to Irene and Alya's shock. They saw what happened when she lied, and she's still trying to save herself. "Nonna passed the necklace down to me because she-"

"LIES!" Another dagger came very close to hitting Irene's foot. She managed to move it out of the way at the last second. "So shameful. Letting your mother face the consequences for your lies? Is there no level you won't stoop to, Lila?" When she didn't answer and instead glared at him, he asked Irene the next question, "Why wasn't Lila in school for what was it?... Three months?”

“I was told that school was closed due to an Akuma outbreak and that Ladybug and Chat Noir were too incompetent to stop them.”

”By Lila?”

”...” She nodded, ashamed, “Yes.”

Evillustrator smirked, “Well, while your daughter was relaxing at home, she’s been telling everyone that she was really in Achu with Prince Ali.” He adds, “And it takes Ladybug and Chat Noir about three hours to defeat an Akuma, so they’re not incompetent like your daughter says they are.”

Irene hung her head. How could her own flesh and blood be so deceitful? And how could she risk the life of her own mother like this?

”Aw, that’s so sweet!” Chat exclaimed as he and Ladybug landed on the balcony and made their way inside.

”Nathaniel, you’ve already exposed Lila,” Ladybug tried to reason. “Just hand over your Akuma so no one else gets hurt!”

”My name is Evillustrator!” he growled. “And that wasn’t even half the lies she’s told!” He turns to Irene, who’s gone pale learning that Lila's told more lies. “You thought those were bad? Just wait until you see what else she’s hiding.” He draws a gas mask that appears over his face and a smoke bomb that releases purple smoke all around the living room. There are some scattered coughs that decrease as the smoke clears up due to Ladybug and Chat Noir spinning their weapons. They act like fans and blow the smoke out of the window. When the room clears up, Evillustrator, Lila, and Alya are gone, but Irene still remains tied up on the couch with the daggers still above her.

“Where’d they go?” Ladybug wondered aloud before Chat went to go untie Mme. Rossi.

”Th-thank you, b-both of you,” she stammered while eyeing the still-floating daggers. “I-I am so sorry for what I th-thought of you, I’m sure you’re both-“

”Ma’am, it’s alright,” Chat told her. “Lila was the one making us look bad; you didn’t know.”

"Maledetto," Irene sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Looking back, some things Lila has been telling me did seem far-fetched. The school being closed for months, every student and teacher being akumatized, the people working for the media have been held hostage." The heroes give her unbelieving looks. "Yes. I realize how dumb it sounds now, but I'm new to these... Akumas, and Miraculous. I... I thought I could trust her."

Ladybug rested a hand on the woman's shoulder and gives her a sympathetic look, "We'll set your daughter straight, Mme. Rossi. You can be sure of it." As the woman smiled, Ladybug called her for her, "Lucky Charm!" The object that dropped down into her hands was, "A ram's horn?"

Chat Noir scratched his head in confusion, "You gonna play a little tune?"

"That's also what convinced me you two weren't capable," Irene said. "You rely on random objects to defeat an Akuma?"

Ladybug looked around the room, trying to find a way to use the Lucky Charm, "Well, they do help in battles. I just need to figure out how to use it."

"Hey!" Chat piped up, "Isn't there a Goat Miraculous?"

Ladybug recalled seeing a Goat Kwami when she was battling Kwamibuster, and she wore horn-shaped barrettes. "You're right, Chat! Go and follow Evillustrator, I'll be with you soon." With a salute, Chat was gone. Before she left, Irene told her in a low, threatening voice, "Bring her back, so I may give her the punishment she deserves."

Ladybug tensed, "Well, with what Lila's been doing, she'll probably be out of your hands and in the polices'." She left before Irene could ask what she meant, leaving the Italian woman to sulk in her living room.

'What did she do to him?!' Marc wondered over and over as he sat in the art room with Juleka, furiously writing his feelings down in his journal. Both of them needed a break from the guilty look of Juleka's classmates and decided to spend the rest of the day in the art classroom. It was so quiet without the others.'That sausage-haired jerk deserves what's coming to her!... Maybe not death.'

Juleka takes a peek over Marc's shoulder to read what he's written. Her eyes go wide when she sees the many words Marc has used to describe Lila... Well, he was right. "You feeling better?" she asked.

Marc looked up from his journal and turned to face the goth girl. "... I need worse words for her." Juleka chuckled and took the seat next to him. "I have used every curse word and insult I could think of to describe Lila, and none of them are strong enough."

Juleka pulls out a pencil, "Try this." She writes something down on the corner page of his journal and has him look at it, leaving Marc's face a crimson red. "Eh?"

"Juleka," Marc gasped. "Wh-where did you-"

"You won't believe what mom said around me," she smirked. "One of them was actually Luka's first word." Her amused expression turns sour, "I still think those words are too good for Lila, though."

"Every curse word is too good for her," Marc joked, making Juleka laugh. Cutting off their amused laughter was the sound of something hitting a window. They turned around and saw Ladybug standing on a ledge right outside the classroom. They ran over and opened the window, allowing the heroine to come inside.

"L-Ladybug, what are you doing here?" Juleka asked in awe.

"The Lucky Charm told me to come here." She turns to Marc, "I'm gonna need to borrow you for a while, Marc." The emerald-eyed boy stood, frozen in shock. Ladybug. The Ladybug wanted to borrow him! Realizing that he's just been staring at her for a while, he snapped out of his daze and nodded.

"Y-yes! Of course!"

"Smooth," Juleka whispered.

Ladybug wrapped her arm around Marc's waist and threw her yoyo out of the window. Once it wrapped around something, it pulled the two out of the classroom, leaving Juleka alone.

"... Might as well go home," she said to herself before gathering up her stuff.

Once she and Marc were on top of a roof, Ladybug moved them to hide behind an air vent, away from the public view. "Marc, what I'm about to ask you is very important, okay?" Off his nod, she pulled out a hexagonal box in front of her. "Marc Anciel, here is the Miraculous of the Goat, which grants the power of Compassion. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done, you will return the Miraculous to me."

Marc was speechless. He wanted to faint, scream, and jump up and down like a child on Christmas morning. Ladybug. Was asking him to assist her in saving Nathaniel... But what if he failed? Nathaniel would stay an Akuma forever, he'd fail Ladybug and Chat Noir, and-"

"Do you accept?" Ladybug asked, concerned when Marc didn't give her an immediate response like the previous heroes. "Marc, I trust you. And Nathaniel needs you."

"... I'll do it."

With a smile, Ladybug handed him the box. Marc opened it, revealing two hair clips in the shape of horns. There was a bright flash of light that had Marc shielding his eyes for a moment before looking up at the goat-like creature floating in front of him. All he could think was, 'I WANNA PET THEM SO MUCH!'

"Hi!" She greeted, "My name's Ziggy, and I'm a Kwami! It's a pleasure to meet you!" She flies around Marc, making him chuckle. "I love him already!" Ziggy squealed as she nuzzled against Marc's cheek. "Okay, to transform, you just gotta say, Ziggy, Fleece On!"

With a nod, Marc put the clips in his hair, where they turned into crescent moon-shaped clips.

"Ziggy! Fleece On!"

Ziggy flew into one of the hairclips, transforming them both back into their original design. Marc swept his hand over his face, making a black mask appear around his eyes. A golden sheep's bell appeared on his choker necklace. The magic spread from the bell and formed a white hoodie with black trumpet sleeves, white gloves with black fingertips, black pants held up by a white studded belt, and black and white combat boots. He ran his fingers through his hair, making fake goat ears appear atop his head, and his hair became an inch longer with the tips dyed white. Finally, he reached up into the air and caught a shepherd's crook that materialized in the air. He spun it around before tapping it on the ground.

Capricorn was ready!

All of Paris' citizens stood before the Eiffel Tower, eyes glued to their phones as they watched the LadyBlog live stream with anticipation. Firefighters stood all around the structure with large trampolines ready to catch someone. And at the very top of the Eiffel Tower were Alya, filming the fight between Chat Noir, Stormy Weather, and Mime, both drawn by Evillustrator, said villain plucking at a rope tied to the railing, and tied at the end of the rope was Lila, dangling thousands of feet above the ground and screaming to the top of her lungs.

"Come on, Lila," Evillustrator told her as he continued messing with the only thing keeping Lila from becoming a stain on the ground. "Make things easier for yourself, and tell everyone the truth."

"I'M NOT A LIAR!" she screeched.

Evillustrator snarled before ducking out of the way of one of Stormy Weather's lightning bolts. "You'll do anything to keep up your act, won't you?!" He drew a throwing dark on his tablet and aimed it for Lila's head. She managed to swing out of the way just in time, much to Evillustrator's frustration. He let out a sigh before saying, "Fine. Have it your way." He draws a blade on his tablet, and that same one appears in his hand.

"NO!" Chat Noir yelled before he was pinned to the floor by one of Mime's invisible objects. His staff was out of reach, and he could barely move. Stormy Weather approached him with her parasol, and zapped him with an ice blast, freezing him in place.

Hawkmoth's symbol appeared over Evillustrator's face, "Evillustrator! Forget the girl! Take Chat Noir's Miraculous! Unthaw his hand!"

"She's made my and my friends' life a living hell, and you expect me to let her GET AWAY WITH IT?!"

In his lair, Hawkmoth swayed slightly due to being overwhelmed by Evillustrator's emotions. How can one boy feel so much rage? He looked through the Akuma's eyes and saw him putting the blade close to the rope holding up his follower. Hawkmoth didn't care for Lila, but he wasn't that cruel. Plus, if she died, where else is he gonna find some selfish civilian willing to work for him and get rid of a couple of Adrien's bad influences in exchange for the hero's downfall and a modeling contract? "That's enough!"

Hawkmoth was physically restraining Evillustrator from cutting the rope. The Akuma struggled to regain control, "Why are you defending her of all people?! You got a soft side for Rossi, Hawkmoth?!" He sneered, "What is she, your follower or something?..." He gets the use of his body back and smirks when Hawkmoth says nothing. "Your silence says a lot."

Alya and the citizens watching from down below gasped. Some inexperienced model was secretly working for Hawkmoth? She was working against their beloved hero! Hawkmoth felt like he was about to pass out from the massive wave of emotions. For once, he was praying for Ladybug to show up and de-akumatize the victim. Once this was over, he needed a long break. Screw the jewelry, this headache was awful.

Evillustrator hummed, "Well, less of Hawkmoth's followers, fewer problems." He slashed the rope, and Lila plummeted to the earth with a blood-curdling scream.

"OH MY GOD!" Alya screamed as she dropped her phone.

The firefighters tried to pinpoint where she would drop, and the police stood by, ready the question the girl (If she lives). Lila was halfway to her doom. She clenched her eyes shut and waited while thinking to herself, 'I'm lucky enough to have gotten out of there without him exposing me! That pest better get here in time!' Right as she was at the second level of the tower, she suddenly stopped falling. It felt like something was hoisting her up. She opened one eye and turned her head to see who caught her. (Maybe gain some sympathy while she's at it) "Oh my goodness! Thank you so much for-"

"Cram it, Liar Rossi," Capricorn sneered as he pulled Lila away from the balcony using his crook, and set her down. He unhooked his weapon from her jacket and ran off to help Ladybug.

"HEY!" Lila screeched, throwing away her kicked puppy act. "Aren't you gonna untie me?!"

Capricorn just smirked, having no intention of helping her, and vaulted his way up to the summit of the Eiffel Tower.

Ladybug spun her YoYo, deflecting each of Evillustrator’s projectiles while occasionally using her weapon to hit the ice Chat was trapped in and free him.

”So Ladybug, tell me.” He drew a few throwing stars, “Is Lila really your best friend?”

Ladybug flung one of the projectiles into the throwing stars, making it explode on impact. “She hates me! I try to be friends with her, but she swore a vendetta on me!” She backflips away from the sketchbook before it could pull her in. “Hell, I’m pretty sure she wants me dead! When I was fighting Oni-Chan, she tricked Chat into leaving me!” At the mention of her partner, she threw her YoYo at the ice block once again, creating a few cracks along the surface. “So to answer your question, we never will be friends! Ever!”

Alya felt her hands shaking as she struggled to keep her phone up. She owed Marinette, Nathaniel, Alix, Rose, Juleka, and Marc a huge apology when or if this is all over. So far, it’s not looking good.

Ladybug threw her YoYo once more, intending to grab the sketchbook, but it instead wrapped around a sheet of flypaper. When she retracted it, Ladybug had some trouble separating the two, and just got both of her hands and weapon stuck to the paper. Evillustrator drew a ball and chain around the heroine’s ankle and calmly approached her.

”I won,” he sang as he reached his hand over to grab the earrings. Alya cut her phone off and shielded her eyes. She wanted to know the heroes' identities, but not like this.

But a second before the earrings were in his grasp, Evillustrator was whacked to the side and fell to the ground. While getting up, he watched as a figure dressed in black and white used a shepherd’s crook to break the chain connected to the 100lb ball, and the ice trapping Chat Noir. “Who are you supposed to be?!” He snarled.

He smiled, “The name’s Capricorn.”

Without saying a word, Evillustrator furiously drew a missile on his tablet that appeared and went after the heroes. While running, Ladybug finally got the flypaper off and threw her YoYo around Alya. She flung her over to the elevator and yelled, “Go!” Alya complied and quickly went inside the elevator to avoid the fight.

As he and Capricorn ran, Chat came up with an idea on how to get rid of the missile. To the new hero, he shouted, “Launch me!” With a nod, Capricorn ran ahead of Chat, got down on one knee, and locked his fingers together. Once he was close enough, Chat leaped into Capricorn’s hands, and the latter launched him into the air. Chat called out “Cataclysm!” as he went over the missile, and slid his hand across it, turning it into black ash.

”Nice one, you guys!” Ladybug commended as she rejoined the fight.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without ewe,” he shot Capricorn double finger guns, making Ladybug roll her eyes and Capricorn stifle a laugh. Seeing Evillustrator drawing something else, Ladybug said to the new hero, “Capricorn, use your power. You can connect with Nathaniel and figure out what’s wrong!”

He nodded, “Cover me!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir ran towards Evillustrator, just as he was finished drawing three buzz saws. Chat Noir got in front of Ladybug and deflected them while she called for another Lucky Charm. It was a box of tissues. She set those to the side and went after Evillustrator, wrapping her YoYo tight around him. He kept his sketchbook clutched close to his chest and had no intention of letting go.

With him restrained, Capricorn yelled, “Connection!” And his crook was illuminated by a bright white light. He calmly approached Evillustrator, ignored his threats, and tapped his forehead with the crook. In an instant, Capricorn was no longer at the Eiffel Tower; he was at someone’s home. He looked around and recognized the place thanks to the furniture and photos framed on the wall. He was at Nathaniel’s house.

”Where’s my lil’ Leonardo?!” A playful voice called out followed by some giggling. Capricorn looked towards the door and saw a tall man with dark red hair and turquoise eyes walking in with a bright smile and a bag in his hands. Capricorn recognized the man. He’s seen his photos every time he goes over to Nathaniel’s house. It was his father, Maison Kurtzberg.

The man smiled as a child with long red hair wearing paint-splattered clothes ran into his arms. It was clear to Capricorn that the boy was Nathaniel.

”We really gotta cut your bangs, kids,” Maison laughed as he ruffled young Nathaniel’s hair, making the child laugh.

”Oh, leave him alone,” a voice Capricorn recognized as Aya’s said. “he likes how they look.” The seven-year-old nodded in agreement with his mother, making Maison chuckle.

”Well then, how are you gonna be able to see when you’re drawing in your books?” he asked.

”Oh, our little artist used up all of his sketchbooks,” Aya simpered while Maison just looked astonished.

”All ten of them?” Aya nodded. “Well then...” He hands Nathaniel over to Aya and reaches into the bag his holding, “It’s a good thing I bought this!” He pulls out a black sketchbook with a white outline of a paintbrush, pencil, and pen on the front. The young boy’s eyes gleamed under his bangs, and he made grabby motions with his hands, either to get to his dad or grab the new sketchbook.

Aya giggled and kissed her son’s forehead. “We really need to get him to talk more.”

Capricorn smiled at the scene before it faded away and transitioned to the school locker room. He looked around and saw Nathaniel, standing at his locker and frantically flipping through the torn pages of a black book. Upon closer inspection, Capricorn realized that it was Nathaniel’s sketchbook, the one his dad bought for him.

‘So that’s what Lila did,’ he thought bitterly.

When Nathaniel broke out into tears and sat down on the floor, Capricorn approached and kneeled beside him. “... Nathaniel?” He looked up at him with a tear-stained face and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Capricorn placed his hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders, “You had every right to be mad. You-“

Nathaniel cut him off, “Took my anger out on everyone! I-I trapped my classmates, I hurt Ladybug and Chat Noir, I tried to kill Lila!” He covers his face with his hands and cries harder, “I almost hurt Marc...”

Capricorn wanted to tell him, ‘No you didn’t.’ But that would reveal himself as Marc.

”My classmates are gonna hate me even more for what I did to Lila. Don’t make me go back out there...”

“I won’t.” He moves Nathaniel’s hands out of the way and cups his face in his hands. “But you can’t stay Akumatized forever. I get why you’re upset. That sketchbook came from someone very important to you and she took it away...”

Nathaniel sighs and holds his hand against his cheek. “...”

”... If it makes you feel any better, Evillustrator exposed Lila as Hawkmoth’s partner.”

Nathaniel looks up, hopeful, “He did?”

Capricorn nodded, “You won’t have to worry about her anymore. She can’t hurt you or your friends again.”

“... The Akuma's in my sketchbook,” he said, right before the locker room faded away.

Capricorn looked around and saw that he was back at the Eiffel Tower. In front of him was a heavily crying Evillustrator, no longer bound by Ladybug’s YoYo. He slowly loosened his grip around his sketchbook and handed it over to Capricorn. The goat hero took it, turned around, and tore the book in half. The pages scattered onto the floor and morphed into the people Evillustrator trapped in the sketchbook. Finally, the Akuma fluttered out of the book.

”No more evil-doing for you, little Akuma!” Ladybug caught it with her YoYo. “Time to de-evilize! Gotcha!” Emerging from the YoYo was a pure white butterfly that fluttered up into the sky. “Bye-bye little butterfly.” She looked around for the tissue box Lucky Charm until she saw Capricorn using a handful to wipe Evillustrator’s tears away. With a smile, she took the box and tossed it into the air.

”MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

The tissue box burst into thousands of magic Ladybugs that flew across the city. The people released from the sketchbook were placed back on the ground, all of the damage caused by Evillustrator was fixed, Chat and Ladybug’s cuts from earlier were healed, everything erased was restored, and Lila was no longer tied up. Finally, the Akuma’s magic washed over Evillustrator, leaving Nathaniel curled in on himself.

Ladybug and Chat Noir fist bump, “Pound it.”

Chat Noir looks off to the side and notices something lying on the floor. He walks over to it and picks up Nathaniel’s repaired sketchbook. “Hey,” Nathaniel looks up and gasps when he sees his sketchbook, “this yours?” He hands it over to the redhead, who immediately takes it.

”Th-thank you,” he whispered in disbelief as he flipped through the pages. Everything was there. He furrowed his brow in confusion, “I-I thought the Miracle Cure could only repair things caused by the Akuma.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure how to answer that. Maybe the Miracle Cure could fix Akumatized objects that were previously damaged, she thought. Before Ladybug could reply, he YoYo beeped. She switched it to the phone setting and saw a LadyBlog Livestream, only Alya’s phone was pointed to the floor. Did she know she was live right now?

”Please! All it takes is a few tears, and everyone will think Hawkmoth manipulated or blackmailed me!” It was Lila.

”Did Alya plan this?” Ladybug wondered.

”Clever girl,” Chat said.

“And just wait until tomorrow. Those idiots will fall at my command and attack that asshole, Kurtzberg! Maybe I can get them to tear up his sketchbook again! No doubt Ladybug's fixed it."

Capricorn‘s grip around his weapon tightened when she said that.

She let out a fake whine, “‘Oh, Nathaniel tried to kill me! Lock him away!’ See? It’s that easy!”

“I’ll tell everyone!” Alya retorted.

”And who’s gonna believe some lousy tabloid writer?” She taunted. “One word from me, and you’ll be a social pariah like those f*g art kids!”

Ladybug wanted to punch that girl so badly... Eh, let Paris take care of her.

”What the hell did you do to her?!”

”Well, let’s see... Threatened her, told her she’d lose her friends, and succeeded. Framed her for theft, cheating, and assault. Then I got her expelled so I could have Adrien all to myself."

Chat Noir held back the bile rising in his throat.

”So, I’m gonna go on a limb here and say you’ve been lying about every single thing.”

”Took you long enough, idiot! I hope you like sitting alone tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll be rich from taking that dumpy bitch’s charity money, and modeling for Gabriel.”

”And meanwhile, Paris will be hunting you down.” Alya pans the phone over to her smug face. “You heard it here, Paris. Lila is working for Hawkmoth, has been tormenting students and Francoise-DuPont, stealing charity money, and she’s homophobic.”

She pans the phone towards Lila’s horrified face. “So Lila, how does it feel to be the most hated girl in France? Oh, look at that. The comments are rolling in- Wow, everyone really hates you.”

Officer Raincomprix steps in between the two girls, “Miss Césaire, we’re going to need that phone for evidence, please.”

”One minute sir,” the video pans to her face, “Babe, if you’re watching this, I’m sorry. Your phone’s with the cops now. Okay, here you go.” The screen cuts to black.

Chat Noir couldn’t help but laugh, “I love that girl!”

Ladybug ran her fingers through her hair and grinned, “It’s over! She’s gone! She’s finally gone!” She turns to Capricorn with a bright smile, “Capricorn, why don’t you take Nathaniel back home? I’ll meet up with you later.”

With a nod, the goat hero scooped up Nathaniel into his arms and leaped away. Ladybug and Chat Noir swung and vaulted off, feeling very relieved knowing that they would have to deal with Lila anymore as civilians or heroes.

Capricorn landed right outside Nathaniel’s home and gently set him down.

”Thanks,” Nathaniel said as he shyly looked down at the ground. “A-again, I am so sorry about-“

”Nathaniel, it’s fine,” Capricorn reassured him. “You weren’t in control. I’m sure everyone will understand.”

Nathaniel smiled at that, “Thanks.”

Then, without thinking, Capricorn pulled him in for a hug, which Nathaniel returned once he got over his surprise. This lasted for a few more seconds until Nathaniel said, “I- uh... I have a boyfriend.”

Capricorn mentally facepalmed. ‘You’re not Marc right now! Nathaniel is not Capricorn’s boyfriend!’ "Sorry." Awkwardly, he pulled away and the two boys looked away in embarrassment. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, someone called out, "NATH!" It was Alix, running towards him with Rose and Juleka. The latter narrowed her eyes at the goat hero, making him tense up and worry she'll figure out he's Marc.

"Oh, shit!" Alix cursed and she engulfed Nathaniel in a bone-crushing hug. "I thought we lost you, bud!"

"We could hear everything while we were in the sketchbook," Rose piped up. "They know Lila's lying!"

"Everyone in Paris does," Juleka smiled. "A police car drove by me earlier and I saw her in the back seat."

Alix cackled, "You should have seen their faces, Nath! It was priceless! Bustier was rocking back and forth like a mental patient, Max was face-palming over and over, and Mylene? Whoa! Don't get me started-"

Rose pointed to Capricorn, "Who's this?" Alix and Juleka turned their attention to the new hero.

"Sweet!" Alix pumped her fist in the air. "A new hero! And he helped take down Rossi!"

Capricorn's elation from the compliments turned to concern when Nathaniel asked, "Wait, where's Marc? Is he okay?!" Before Capricorn could come up with an excuse, Juleka answered, "Oh, his moms called him home," she fibbed while occasionally stealing glances at Capricorn. "I was gonna go with him, but my mom needed me home for something, too. He's probably still there."

Capricorn furrowed his brow. Did Juleka know?

"Thanks, Jules!" The four of them watched him run to Marc's house. With them distracted, Capricorn took this opportunity to quickly vault away once he heard his clips beeping and go look for Ladybug.

Capricorn met with Ladybug in an alley near his house and said the de-transformation words. "Ziggy, fleece off." The goat kwami flew out from the hair clip and hovered next to Marc, nuzzling his cheek as he removed the clips.

"That was so much fun!" Ziggy squealed. "Can you call on him again one day? Pleeease?" She put her flipper-hands together and gave Ladybug dough eyes, making her and Marc laugh.

"We'll see," Ladybug giggled. She gives Ziggy a little pat on her head before pulling out the box. Marc set the clips back in and said goodbye to Ziggy before she flew back into the horn-shaped clips.

"Thank you, Marc." She tucked the box away then pulled out her yoyo, preparing to swing away. "I knew I picked the right person for the job. Now, I suggest you go make sure Nathaniel is alright."

Marc nodded, "I will."

"See you soon, Capricorn." Marc wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she was already gone. He let out an excited squeal before running to his house. He waited outside for about three minutes until he saw Nathaniel running towards him.

"Nath!" The two ran towards each other and met each other with a tight, loving embrace.

"Rainbow, I'm so sorry," Nathaniel whispered, taking an exhale before asking, "Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that. Nath, what Lila was... It-it was fucked up." Nathaniel nodded once he got over the shock of hearing his boyfriend curse. "But she's gone, now. She can't hurt you, me, Mari, anyone anymore."

With a smile, Nathaniel kissed Marc, and he melted into it as he wrapped his arms around Nathaniel.

The next day, the art club kids walked to school together. (Marc made sure to set an alarm for Marinette) They wanted to be prepared for any random apologies from the Akuma class or any reporters swarming the schoolyard looking for Hawkmoth's latest victim. When they realized DuPont was an Akuma hotspot, news crews would always go to get an interview from the Akumatized student or teacher. So far no reporters yet, much to Nathaniel's relief, but there were a few police cars parked outside.

Around them were a few officers questioning the students and teachers as they made their way to the doors. Before they could go in, the doors swung open, and four police officers walked out, escorting Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles to the police cars. Marinette asked Nino, who walked out a second later, "Are Mme. Bustier and M. Damocles getting arrested?"

Nino shrugged, "I heard the school board decided to do an investigation when Lila mentioned missing months of school and getting you expelled without any proof. Some people from the board came, talked to them, and, uh..." He slipped off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't think we're gonna see them for a while, Mari."

Marinette couldn't help but grin at the news, "I don't have to be the class example anymore!" Nino's eyes bulged at that. "I-it's a long story. I'll tell you later."

Nino chuckled before giving the group a remorseful look, "I... I'm sorry I didn't believe you guys."

"Don't sweat it, Lahiffe," Alix said. "You guys are just too nice and naive to notice when you're being conned."

Nino furrowed his brow as he processed what she just said. After a moment of silence, he said, "Thank... You? Well, school is canceled for today and the class is going to get some ice cream. You guys in?"

"Yeah!" Alix cheered. "Let's get some ice cream and apologies!" She sat on top of the stair railing and slid down.

"There they are," Kim said, pointing to Nino arriving with the art students. The Akuma class tensed up as they approached. Some were going over their apologies in their heads while others were figuring out what to say, especially to Marinette and Nathaniel. "Alright," he took a breath, "let's do this, guys."

Before any of them could apologize, Alix spoke, "Yes, yes. You all were idiots, we're smart, you're sorry, and promise to listen to us when we say someone is lying."

"... Y-yeah. Ba-basically," Kim stammered. "But seriously, you guys, we're sorry we took Lila's side."

"We've known you guys since we were kids," Mylene remarked. "We should've known you guys couldn't have done the stuff Lila said you did."

"Yeah, you should've," Juleka muttered, making Rose nudge her girlfriend with her elbow.

Alya walked over to Marinette with a sad smile, "Any chance you guys might forgive us someday?"

Marinette smiled and pulled the girl in for a hug, "Alya, shut up. I forgive you."

The creole girl smile and wrapped her arms around Marinette, "Thanks, Mari."

"... But if this happens again, I will physically knock some sense into you all until you admit that I'm right and beg for mercy," she whispered. The students just stood there, disturbed by what the sweetest girl in class just said.

Alya slowly back away from Marinette and nervously chuckled, "Got it, girl."

"Now, Alya," Alix piped up, "guys, isn't there someone else you want to apologize to?" She gestures over to Nathaniel.

Alya wasn't sure what to say to Nathaniel. The only time they really interacted was yesterday when she accused him of stealing Lila's art. So, taking a deep breath, she said to him, "Nathaniel, I... I jumped the gun, there, I'll admit it." A few nodded along. "When I think about it, the more I realize that you'd never steal another person's art."

"I mean you went into a fifteen-minute rant during history when we were talking about some art thief," Ivan brought up. He chuckled at the memory before stopping abruptly. "Yeah... Sorry."

"I forgive you guys," Nathaniel smiled. "Just don't do that ever again or I might also knock some sense into you guys."

To change the subject, Max brought up Capricorn, and now that was all anyone could talk about. Marc blushed when some of the girls called his hero persona cute. Was he? He didn't really get a good look at his outfit. As they rambled on about the new hero, he and Nathaniel went to get some ice cream.

"So, what'd you think of Capricorn?" Marc asked.

Nathaniel hummed in thought before answering, "I like him. He really helped me out there... Plus, he's kinda cute." Marc tried to fight back a blush. "Not as cute as you, though." Marc wasn't sure how to respond to that. "He was really understanding about why I got Akumatized and he even convinced me to hand over my Akuma."

Marc feigned surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "Do you think he'd mind if we put him in the comic?"

Marc pretended to think about it for a moment, "I don't think so."

AO3

~Taglist~

#Evillustrator #marc x nathaniel #Badass Nathaniel Kurtzberg #lila gets exposed #Goat Marc #goat miraculous #ml salt fanfic #class redemption

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 3 - Too Close for Comfort

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: Your training at Tenet is going perfectly well until it’s thrown off balance with the arrival of Neil, who brings chaos and surprising news...

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: So once again this very long, for which I’m sorry. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for the inspiration to my friends, as always! Enjoy!

The first few weeks of your training went by in a mad blur. After day two you realised that to avoid spending ages in the car you had to move into the Tenet building. There you had a cosy room with a bed, desk, a bathroom and relative peace. That is if the more extraverted agents were not partying in the mess hall or the common room. You usually spent the evenings alone, not having the energy or motivation to socialise. Sometimes you also felt as though others perceived you differently for reasons unknown.

Maybe because you have been recruited by one of Tenet’s top agents personally?

Your days have been spent either learning about physics and the theoretical side of the inversion or in the sparring hall, trying to dodge inverted punches and kicks. While all the talk of entropy and nuclear fission usually made your head hurt, it was the hand in hand combat that was the bane of your training. Having absolutely no prior experience in various fighting styles, you often got beat up by the fellow recruits. You certainly preferred guns to fists.

Neil has been gone for weeks as well. You knew that most likely the details of the mission were entirely classified so you never asked. But you sometimes did wonder if he would ever show up again. You had to admit that you did hope so. It would be a shame to never see Anna beam like that again.

This day started like any other in that regard. You woke up and got ready for the first class – geography of Tenet, so lessons covered all the different branches with the turnstiles and how to get from one to another when inverted. After that it was the classic combat. You took your position and acknowledged the partner for the hour – a boring guy named Jack who would sometimes hit on you. And today was not going to be different…

“Hello love” he grinned way too widely

“Hi” you answered back dispassionately, praying for the class to start

“You’re looking good today” Jack smirked, trying to look flirtatious and you rolled your eyes.

Pairs all around you were beginning their training and you wanted to cut the small talk short as soon as possible.

“Please, can we get on with this? I really don’t have time” Jack pouted but complied.

Soon you have begun the session. At first, you managed to block his punches and kicks really well, even hit him a few times when he seemed too busy staring at you to react. But then as the pace picked up, you lost the rhythm. Soon you were breathing hard and your body was aching. While Jack wasn’t pulling any punches, he quickly got worried, seeing you pant and wince. He took a step back and asked:

“Everything alright with you?”

“Yeah, just need a breather” you smiled apologetically.

Suddenly, just as you looked up at the front of the hall where the teachers were stood, a dirty blonde head caught your eye.

It can’t be… you scrunched your neck to see better above the students and your eyes met the unmistakable blue gaze. Neil was staring right at you through the crowd.

Shit. Before you could let your thoughts run away too far, Jack began the training again. Without a warning, he aimed a punch towards your shoulder and you barely blocked it. You were desperately trying to focus on the sparring, but the curious mind kept returning to Neil. You ignored it for a while, but then you looked up again. The blue eyes were on you for all that time. That was also the moment when Jack aimed a punch at your jaw, certain you will be there to block it. You were not.

Next thing you knew you were lying on the floorboards, with a throbbing pain in your jaw and Jack staring at you in shock.

“I…I’m sorry! I thought you’d be ready…” he stuttered and held out a hand to help you get up.

Fuck!, you swore and grudgingly accepted the help. But as soon as you were back standing, you had to run. You couldn’t risk meeting Neil right now. And you were pretty damn sure he saw the whole thing happen. Looking at Jack, you breathed out:

“Sorry, I’ve got to go” and quickly pushed through the crowd to the side exit, praying that you will not be followed.

You got lucky and made a hasty escape to your room where you could finally let your emotions loose. Which in this case meant punching the desk and letting out a stream of favourite swear words. Once that was done you sat down on the bed and covered your face with your hands. You hated embarrassing yourself like that in front of people. Let alone people like Neil.

Finally, after wallowing in self-pity for ten minutes, you got up to shower and change. But you only made it as far as touching the bathroom door handle when you heard a knock.  Somehow you knew who it was and hastily smoothed down your hair before opening the door. Neil stood there, with that sickening grin and tousled hair.

“How did you know which room is mine?” you asked while eyeing him up through the crack in the door.

“Hello to you too” he smirked “Anna told me where to find you”

“Of course” you muttered and opened the door wider to let him in.

“What was that?” he watched you with that sly smile, as though excited about the prospect of annoying you.

“Nothing” you sat on the bed and watched as he took the time to look around your small room.

You noticed that he had ditched the suit jacket and had his sleeves rolled up. The exposed forearms were covered in a few fading bruises and cuts. You stared at them a bit too long and quickly looked down at your lap, desperately trying to find something to say. Normally you liked silence, but in this case it made your thoughts wonder way too much.

“So you’re back then?” you asked, cringing at how stupid that sounded.

Neil sat down on the desk chair opposite you and nodded.

“Yeah, for now the world ending has been averted” he joked lightly, and you smiled, suddenly aware that you have missed him.

He searched your face for a short while before asking:

“I take it you don’t like combat sessions?”

“What gave you such an impression?”

“Well that was an impressive knock-out” he winked, and you groaned, causing him to laugh.

“Was hoping you’ve somehow missed it” you admitted while looking away at the wall.

His intense stare was starting to make you feel self-conscious. After all those weeks of not seeing him you have forgotten what it was like. Sometimes you even thought that maybe Neil was just a figment of your imagination. But he was most certainly real. And right now was still looking at you, searching for something. He found it when he suddenly got up and kneeled right in front of you. You stared wide-eyed as he reached out and touched a sore spot on your jaw, making you flinch.

“Sorry” he apologised “Is this where you got hit today?” gently he traced the bruise that was beginning to form.

“Think so” your voice came out huskier than you expected.

“There’s a small cut” only now you felt the sting “You should get that cleaned up” he noticed and met your gaze steadily.

You realised with a surprise that he was looking at you with worry. He was close. Way too close. You felt the rush of adrenaline and jumped up, nearly knocking him on the head in the process.

“I’m fine” you mumbled “I’ll check it now” you moved towards the bathroom.

But once again it was not meant to be. Neil placed his hands on your arms and pulled you down to sit on the bed.

“We’ve done this before” he glared at you “And I’m not taking ‘fine’ for an answer this time” you could just stare “Now, where do you have the first aid kit?”

“Shelf behind the mirror” you watched as he went to the bathroom and covered your face with your hands.

You always hated being the centre of attention. Being cared after like this. Because it meant that you were not strong enough in the first place. It was easier to just be entirely self-dependent, to never ask for help. And now Neil has seen your weakness twice. It was too much. Just as you have begun to consider bolting away, he emerged, armed with gauze and glass filled with water. He set them down on the bedside table and turned towards you. He must have noticed your struggle because he frowned and took a long look at you before asking:

“Is everything alright?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze and nodded.

“Because you don’t look alright right now”

“Thanks, you know how to compliment a girl” you joked dryly, trying to stop the line of uncomfortable questioning.

It worked as Neil burst out laughing and looked at you incredulously. The downside was that you could no longer run away. So you accepted his beckoning to come closer and lifted your head to give him better access to the cut. He soaked the gauze in water and carefully cleaned the wound, all the while perfectly focused on the task. Although you could not see him you imagined the look of concentration on his face. Once the cut has been disinfected, he covered it with a small band-aid and gave you a quick once-over. You lowered your head and watched him out of the corner of your eye. After he was done with the inspection, his hand was still gently touching your jaw, with thumb caressing your neck just below the ear. You stared at him with lips parted in shock, wondering if he was aware of the movement. You shifted slightly and that broke him out of the reverie. His eyes met yours, and he smiled softly, not stopping the delicate caress. Now that you knew he was aware of his actions you felt your face heat up. To try and break the tense silence, you decided to speak up:

“Thank you for this…” your voice was incredibly hoarse.

“Of course” he smiled wider “Couldn’t have you walking around bleeding”

His hand had stopped the movement but was still placed on your neck. You could not process how close he was. Your brain kept reminding you how you did not really know him. How it can go wrong. The urge to run away was back, possibly at the worst moment. You quickly turned your head away. Neil looked at you with surprise but before either of you could say anything, a knock echoed in the room. You turned to Neil:

“You expecting anyone?” he asked.

“Certainly not” you frowned and went to open the door cautiously.

On the other side there was a tall man of a soldierly posture with a buzz cut and a pleasant looking face. You looked at him quizzically, but he was staring right past you:

“Anna told me I’d find you here” he addressed Neil, who came up to stand next to you.

The two men then had a rather peculiar silent exchange which started with the soldier smirking while looking at you, and Neil responding with a small shake of the head and a grin. You had enough of that.

“Sorry, but who are you?” you asked, while staring at them both.

“Apologies, ma’am” the newcomer grinned at you “I’m Ives” he extended a hand and you shook it.

“Ives is leader of our squad unit” Neil explained, and you nodded.

“I’m…” you opened your mouth to introduce yourself but got cut off by Ives.

“Oh I know who you are” you stared at him confusedly “Neil told me about you” that knowing grin again.

You noticed with a surprise that Neil looked somewhat flustered. But he composed himself quick enough for you to dismiss that idea. He cleared his throat and asked:

“Anyways, what brings you here Ives?”

“TP wanted me to discuss something with you” your ears perked up at the mention of the Protagonist, the mysterious founder of Tenet “And there will be a small gathering later in the common room with all the squad so thought you might want to join” Ives smiled at you “Both of you”.

Neil looked at you expectantly and you nodded:

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do”

“You won’t regret it” Ives grinned “Mate can we talk in private?” he turned to Neil.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you in the briefing room in ten” they shared one last cryptic look and Neil closed the door.

You stared at him, still unable to forget the way he looked at you mere minutes ago. And the moment you have shared. But now the spell has been broken, and you did not know what to say. Luckily Neil seemed to be doing fine as he threw you the signature soft smile:

“Sorry about that. Ives is a pretty straightforward guy” he explained, and you laughed, feeling the tension dissolve.

“I can see that” you held his gaze a little longer before adding “You should go discuss the classified stuff with him. Might be something important”

Neil looked hesitant. Finally, he must have made up his mind because he reached out to squeeze your hand. A familiar gesture by now.

“Shall I pick you up later for the party?” he asked.

“Sure” you smiled “Though calling it a party makes me regret the decision to participate” you admired the grin he sent you.

“No need for that, you’ll do great” he winked and without further word left your room.

Now finally you could panic in peace.

***

After stressing for a solid hour about what to wear, you decided to just put on the comfiest t-shirt and jeans. Most agents and recruits rarely dressed up anyway. Apart from Neil, naturally, but you had a feeling he was an exception in most things. Once you got ready, you sat at the desk, trying to finish the assignments for the classes. That was a very bad idea since your brain was mostly busy panicking about the party and analysing what happened before Ives came. When that desired (and feared) knock sounded in the room, you rushed to open it. You were almost happy Neil has not changed into an expensive suit.

“Ready?” he smiled, and you automatically beamed back.

Have I become like Anna already?, you cringed at your reaction. But there was no time to marinate in shame as Neil practically pulled you out of the room without waiting for confirmation. You stared at him, surprised as the door to your room slammed shut.

“Are we that late?”

He just grinned and started walking down the corridor. You shook your head amused before jogging to catch up. When you both entered the common room you first noticed that they have reorganised the space by moving the couches around. Now they formed a large circle in the middle of which there was a table set with beer and wine bottles. There was also music playing from the speakers. And there were at least ten people in the room. At that observation you swallowed hard. You were never good with meeting new people and the idea itself made you anxious. But looking at Neil marching in confidently and shaking hands with everyone you realised that you might have to overcome the fear. The moment you stepped through the threshold all eyes were on you.

Bloody hell, you pasted a small smile on your lips and looked at all the faces. But before you were forced to introduce yourself, Ives did it for you:

“This is our new recruit, Y/N” everyone smiled at you “She’s friends with Neil, so we’ll probably see more of her” he added, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

You looked at Neil and once again would swear he looked slightly uncomfortable. But before you could think about it more you got swept into the circle by Ives and tried to remember names of everyone introduced to you. After the initial small talk, you sat down with a glass of wine, hoping to be able to just listen to others talk and fade into the background. But it wasn’t meant to be…

“So how do you like the training?” a woman asked, that you believed was called Wheeler.

She was looking at you with a pleasant smile which gave you the needed courage.

“It’s not too bad. The whole physics side of it makes my head hurt sometimes but then it’s all so fascinating” you saw a few understanding smiles and nods.

“Well I can help you with the physics if you ever need it” Neil spoke up suddenly and you looked at him across the table.

He has been weirdly quiet since you came in but was evidently listening to the conversation. He was looking at you with a small smile which you mirrored as a way of thanks. You were very aware of the company.

“But yeah I don’t mind the training” you tried to finish the thought “It’s very different from the stuff I did at university and that’s refreshing” you grinned.

“Heard you don’t like the combat training” Ives smirked, and you glared at him.

So everyone knows now…, you groaned mentally.

“What’s the basis for this assumption?” you didn’t want to give up your dignity without a fight.

With satisfaction, you noted the surprised grin he responded with.

“Got my sources” he shrugged “And that bruise on your jaw is a pretty good clue too”

“What can I say, you got me there” you put up your hands in surrender and he laughed.

“No shame in that though, love” your eyes widened at the nickname “I’m sure you’ll get better at it with time” he winked, and your eyes got even wider.

At that point someone luckily started another topic that you were not familiar with so you could focus on dealing with what just happened. You felt someone stare at you intently and looked up to see the well-known blue eyes boring into your face. His expression was somewhat sombre, and you briefly wondered if he could be jealous. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of the thought and took a large sip of wine. Neil was still looking at you and only stopped when he got asked about a recent mission. You listened curiously:

“Well it was nothing out of the ordinary. Inverted weapons dealer, murky transactions and a proper gunfight in the parking lot” he shrugged, and you wondered if that’s what the future holds for you.

“Any fuck ups this time?”

“Just a small… misunderstanding” Neil raised his arms to show the bruised forearms and the others laughed.

Then the conversation shifted towards more mundane things and you were happy to just listen. You have been pleasantly surprised by the camaraderie you noticed between the squad members and Neil. You have been asked a few questions about your past which were a nice change to the anonymity you got used to during the training. Sometimes you would look at Neil, giving in to curiosity. He was either listening to the conversation or joking with the rest, making use of the infinite charm he seemed to possess. You were not surprised to see that everyone seemed to like him. After a while you lost the sense of time and were pretty sure you had enough wine to regret it in the morning. So when someone mentioned that it is past 1am you groaned out loud and got up. The world swayed before your eyes and you waited another moment to adjust before speaking:

“Sorry I need to go now or else won’t survive the shooting training tomorrow” you smiled apologetically.

“Good luck with that!” Ives sent you another cheeky grin and you laughed.

“Thanks, will be needed” with that you moved towards the exit, waving goodbye.

You started walking down the corridor when you felt a hand touch your arm unexpectedly. You jumped up at the contact.

“Didn’t mean to startle you” Neil smiled, and you glared at him.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t creep up on me” you both continued down the hallway “Why did you leave the party?” “I’m quite tired” you glanced at him surprised “And because I have something important to tell you”

You stopped in front of your door and you leaned on the wall.

“The Protagonist wants to meet you” your eyes widened “That’s what me and Ives talked about before. He said that TP is interested in you and wants us to come to the HQ’s as soon as we can”

You stared at him in shock. It didn’t make any sense.

“Why?”

“No idea” he shrugged, and you were shocked to see him clueless “But I’ll go with you and I want us to get the plane on Friday after your training”

“That’s the day after tomorrow” you frowned, thinking about everything you would need to do before boarding on a plane to the US.

“I know. But from my experience I can tell you that if TP says something, it’s best to listen to him” he added, startling you with the serious tone.

He must have noticed how scared that made you because he reached out to touch your shoulder and gave it a gentle rub.

“Don’t worry about it for now though. I’ll arrange everything for the travel and will come by tomorrow afternoon with details” he let his hand fall to his side and you instantly missed the touch.

You raked through your head for something to say.

“So you’re not disappearing this time?” you asked finally, letting yourself eye him suspiciously.

“Certainly not” he grinned and watched as you opened the door to the room. When you got in, he added:

“But it’s good to know you’ve missed me” the playful sparks made you want to punch him in the teeth.

Instead, you just rolled your eyes pointedly, way too tired.

“G’night, Neil” you muttered and started closing the door.

“Sweet dreams” he whispered and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

You covered your head with your hands. This is very inconvenient, you thought while wondering how you got yourself into this situation.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion #gifs not mine

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (5/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | AO3 | 6.1k words

A/N: Brace yourself for some feelz, friends; that’s all I can say about this chapter. (There’s just...a LOT of emotion. You’ll see ;) ) Eternal thanks, as always, to @optomisticgirl​​​​ for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair​​​​ for her amazing art (LOOK AT THAT AHHHHHHH); and to @kmomof4​​​​ and @cssns​​​​ for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

if you’ve ever seen AVPM/S, I’d like you to imagine Draco Malfoy singing the Anita part and that’s what my high school’s production of West Side Story was like

part five: tonight, there will be no morning star

The skyscraper was a wonderful invention; a marvel of modern engineering. The ability to construct a building all the way into the clouds was one of the many things Gold was glad he had lived long enough to see. He’d been impressed enough when the Equitable Life Building opened in 1870; the balcony he stood on now was at least five times higher in the sky.

It was a good thing his sense of vertigo was long-dead, else he might not be able to spend as much time out here, looking down on the city, as he did. It made him feel like some modern monarch, surveying his kingdom from on high. In reality, it was much more complicated than that, though he’d spent long enough building his empire that it wasn’t far-fetched to call it a dynasty.

He sometimes lamented that his efforts would never be documented in history books; how he’d spent centuries working away right under the noses of the mortals, and they remained oblivious. Maybe he’d make that his next project. Surely there was some suffering, underappreciated writer he could bribe with immortality...ah, but not tonight. There’d be time for that later. First, he had to weather whatever was coming.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something in the air was different tonight; a sense of anticipation was floating on the wind, carried along by the brine of the ocean. He tapped his fingers on the rail of the balcony but was unable to tap down on what it was precisely.

“Hello, Rumple,” a voice he’d never be able to forget said from somewhere above.

Ah, perhaps that was it then; he always had a sense for when she was around. “I thought I smelled betrayal and cheap wine on the breeze. Good evening, Cora.”

The woman dropped from the roof above, landing gracefully on the terrace without even wrinkling her pantsuit. Her style had always edged on sharp, though this seemed surprisingly simple for her; he recalled bigger shoulder pads the last time he’d seen her—what was it, ‘85?

 “You seem awfully calm considering what’s about to happen tonight,” she said, ignoring the jibe. Ah well, it was worth a shot; he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of her since 1621, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

He scoffed. “What, a minor scuffle? Two lads having it out over a couple blocks of territory? Seems to me it’s far more personal than anything that would actually mean something.” He’d had to restrain himself from chuckling when Jones told him about the fight; they had no idea.

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown so dense that you don’t realize what this means,” she preened.

He wanted to call her bluff, but if there was one thing he’d learned in over 400 years of dealing with Cora, is that she rarely did. “Enlighten me.”

“It means your underlings are growing restless and tired of this. Mine too. And I’d rather not have this end the way it did last time that happened.” ‘Last time’ being a bloody war; they were able to hide it from the mortals within the confines of the American Revolution but it was a near miss. He’d began rebuilding his ranks immediately; she’d taken her time. And here they were now.

“Chaos has always been my friend, dearie; I can’t say I’d be too upset if it broke out now.”

“While I wouldn't mind it either, I’d be watching your back a bit more closely. Didn’t Jones bring up something...rather interesting earlier?”

Somehow, a chill ran down his unfeeling spine—not just at what Jones had asked about, but the fact that she seemed to know about it as well. “It’s nothing; just a myth. It’s not possible.”

“Please. Think of everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve been through together. Nothing is impossible.”

“I’ve made sure of it.”

“Have you?”

She was always good at poking his buttons. And he was done with it.

“Go. And never come back.”

She had to obey, at least, and he took a small thrill in the way she involuntarily started to climb over the balcony’s railing. “Fine. I just thought I was doing you a favor, but I see it’s not wanted. See you in another 30 years, Rumple.”

She let go and fell back; he didn’t watch to see what happened when she hit the ground. He wouldn’t put it past her to frame him for murder, but she had a different angle this time.

Even though she’d left, that sense of apprehension lingered. Something was indeed coming, something that would change things in his world—but what?

And why did he get the sense Jones was involved?

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The sun wasn’t even below the horizon before Emma left home, shouting a quick “goodbye and good luck” over her shoulder as she headed out into the evening. If she were in her normal skip-tracing clothes (aka her normal clothes), she’d be running across rooftops to get to Granny’s in no time flat. But no, this was a honeypot, so she had to walk, lest she break the only pair of heels she could actually move in without pain. (That was one thing she’d been dismayed to discover: heels still hurt, even if she recovered faster.)

Still, she powerwalked to Granny’s in record time. “Evening, Emma,” the old wolf called out. “The usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, slipping onto her normal stool at the fairly empty counter. It was weird—for a place known to so many, it always seemed to be fairly empty. She had to guess that last night’s meeting was the most crowded it had been in ages. Or maybe that was just part of the magic of the diner.

If she had to guess, the guy at the booth on the other side of the room was a werewolf, based on scent alone; and there was what looked like a fairy bachelorette party at the large booth in the corner. (Not to be confused with fae—she made that mistake once and only once.) Being the only vampire, it was kind of nice to feel like the odd person out for a change. Though she hoped that changed soon.

“Order up!” Granny was suddenly in front of her with a plate of one of the few things on the menu Emma could eat: onion rings. (Onions that had been soaked in blood overnight, mind you, but that was enough for her to be able to stomach them.)

“Thank you so much, Granny,” she effused, and then moaned as she bit into one. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius?”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice. When does lover boy get here?”

As incredible as it was, Emma almost spat out the bite. “Excuse me?”

“Girl, you think I didn’t smell you all over him last night? He covered it up well enough for the others not to notice, but I know better.”

First Zelena, now Granny; they were both going to have to invest in industrial-strength body spray if they were going to keep this under wraps for the time being.

“Calm down; I won’t tell.” But she leaned in across the counter and lowered her voice. “But if you need a place to meet in secret, you know I have rooms upstairs. And I promise not to listen too close.”

“Thanks; I’ll, uh, keep it in mind,” Emma stammered, then hid her embarrassment in another bloody onion ring. Granny, unsurprisingly, cackled and walked away.

It would take more than a voyeuristic wolf to keep her from enjoying fried deliciousness, though, and she savored every bite—being glad she was wearing a red dress in case of drips (Deadpool totally stole that from her, as far as she was concerned)—until there were just two left: the most perfect, juicy, crispiest ones of the bunch. But suddenly, there was only one. And she also wasn’t alone at the counter anymore.

Two seats away, Killian sat with one of her onion rings, taking a slow bite that had her mouth watering in other ways; the way his tongue swiped away the bit of blood that escaped his lips was almost arousing enough to overlook the theft. Almost.

“All those manners and no one taught you to ask nicely?”

“I told you I was a pirate,” he tossed back, taking another bite. “Not a whole lot of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ going on there.”

“I highly doubt you ever pillaged anything as precious as those, though.” She started to stand up to close the distance between them, but he threw her a warning look out of the corner of his eye that made her pause. 

“We’re in public,” he muttered with his mouth full. Damn, he was right; even if no one from either coven was here now, that could easily change. Which was really annoying because as good as his rum-flavored kisses tasted last night, she liked onion rings even more. And, you know, they probably had some business to discuss—like whatever Zelena had been talking about.

As if on cue, Granny slipped past again, but this time tossing a key (with a rather ostentatious keyring) onto the counter in front of her as she went to address her new customer. There was a room number written on it in Sharpie; Emma memorized the number and slipped the key into her lap as she sat back down. (While also making a mental note to try to find some sexy dresses with pockets.) 

The appeal of her last onion ring waned given that there was something far more delicious-smelling a few feet away, so she scarfed it down, threw some cash on the counter, and then headed to the hallway that led upstairs. Granny definitely did better business in the diner than her inn, and it wasn’t anything special, but it was clean, which Emma couldn’t say about a lot of other places she’d been; her skps really loved the city’s roach motels. (Something told Emma the very nature of her host kept most vermin far from the premises.)

Room 305 was simple, sparse, but had a decent-sized mattress with a sturdy frame, and a clean bathroom. All she needed was the privacy, though.

She’d hardly tossed her purse and the key on the room’s table when a soft knock fell on the door; she wouldn’t have heard it if she was still human. She turned back and, out of habit, glanced through the room’s peephole; she was already getting a whiff of spicy and salty air through the door, but this was still the city and you couldn’t be too careful. But of course it was Killian on the other side, peering up at the door through his crazy long lashes.

She didn’t wait any longer to pull it open, and nearly as soon as she had, he was on top of her, claiming her lips with his and damn, she was right—onion rings tasted as good on his lips as they did on her tongue. (But his tongue tasted even better.)

Somehow, the door was shut behind them and while she wasn’t quite sure who was leading, they pressed together from tip to toe until they fell against the plush—and noisy—mattress, sinking in with a loud squeak of ancient steel.

“Should have known Granny would want to hear something like that,” he chuckled. “Saucy old wolf.”

“Eh, let her listen.” Emma’s own arousal was climbing too fast for her to care, and she pounced on Killian again, wrapping a leg around him and pressing her core against his. He was definitely eager, too, she could tell; it was kind of funny how, out of all the bodily functions that ended when a person transitioned to a vampire, arousal was the one that remained unchanged. She’d had her fair share of flings in her afterlife, but no one had her as keyed up as Killian did with so little effort.

His hand wandered down her side, squeezing her waist and then pulling her rear impossibly closer, before toying with the hem of her dress. “I thought last night’s dress was rather demure for you,” he said between kisses, “but this one is positively sinful.”

“Good. Means work will go fast tonight. Horny bond skips usually fall for it pretty fast.”

“I can see why. I’d tell you to be careful, but I feel like it would be better to warn your prey.”

“Emma Swan always gets her man.”

“What a lovely motto.”

“True so far. And that includes right now.” She sucked a line of kisses down his sharp jaw to the juncture of his neck, drawing a delicious moan from him. “Do you have one?”

“Aye,” he breathed, eyes squinted shut as if trying to regain his thoughts. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

“And what is it you want?”

He opened his eyes—clear blue even in the dingy yellow light. “You, love. Just you.”

How could she do anything but kiss him within an inch of his afterlife?

Everything that followed was a rush of sensation rather than any coherent thought:

The brush of his beard against her neck, the firmness of his chest beneath her hands (as well as that of his ass), each graze of his fingers against her thigh as they moved her dress up. 

The way his weight settled above her in a way that was both oppressive and comforting, the dance of fingers as they undid his fly (she wasn’t even sure whose all were involved in that), the bob of his cock as it sprang free from denim confines.

How something so hard could feel so soft in her hand—nearly enough to make him come undone on touch alone, but she’d be damned if she let that happen. (Or, well, damned more than she probably already was going to be.) How, for the first time in 15 years, she genuinely felt flushed.

It was all she could do to shove her lace panties aside and guide him home, and oh—she didn’t have the words for what that felt like: to be filled so perfectly it could have brought tears to her eyes (you know, if her tear ducts still worked). 

And then he moved and—holy shit. Her fangs dropped down on their own accord again but she couldn’t be bothered to care this time; hell, all she wanted to do was sink her teeth into him, but she’d have to settle with using a heel to press him back in.

“You feel incredible, darling,” he murmured, slightly lisping—his fangs had dropped too. Maybe she hadn’t learned all there was to know about vampire biology. But that could be dealt with later; right now, she just needed him, and to find the release that was inching closer painfully slowly.

“So do you,” she whispered. “But it feels amazing when you move.”

“As you wish,” he said into her ear, his breath somehow feeling hot on it, and he complied. They started slow, careful presses in and out to find their rhythm, then picking up speed and power. She really hoped the bed frame would hold up (Twilight did get that part right) and was sure Granny was getting a good show, but she put any other wonderings into finding his lips again, the play of teeth and tongues and lips coinciding with the meeting of other body parts.

It felt like a slow climb—something she was used to in post-mortem relations—but then the precipice came out of nowhere and she was suddenly falling, gasping into Killian’s mouth as her release carried her away, though she held his shoulders with an iron grip to keep from floating too far.

He wasn’t far behind, she felt, and his fingers would have left imprints on her side were they still capable of being bruised. She felt his release spill inside her as his movements stuttered until he was done, slipping out and falling next to her on his back.

It was probably some long-buried instinct that left them feeling out of breath after sex, but Emma was pretty sure she was sweating. Dead or alive, that had been one of the greatest orgasms of her life—and, honestly, sex was so much easier while undead, what with the whole not needing birth control or being worried about STIs. But this—this was something else.

“I do have to admit, that wasn’t my initial aim in following you up here,” Killian said, pulling her into his side. “But I’m not complaining.”

“I think we’d have some issues if you were. You seemed very enthusiastic about it.”

“And how could I not be?” he smirked, turning to look at her. But then his smile fell, and he pressed his thumb against her lips; it came back red. “Apologies, love; did I hurt you?”

She licked her lips and tasted the copper. “No; I hadn’t even noticed. It might have been self-inflicted,” she said, pressing her tongue against her own still-exposed canines. “I wish I knew why that kept happening.”

“It’s just the effect I have on you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Her normal MO when flirting was to refute a statement like that, but...why lie? “I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”

“I can tell.” She lightly slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled at the reaction. “I felt the same way; I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“A day is a lot less than 15 years. It dragged but I managed. Thank you for not murdering my dad last night.”

“That wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly. And if anyone was going to do any assassination last night, it would have been Graham killing me.”

Ugh, of course he would; she groaned. “Sorry; he can’t take a hint. You make out with a guy once twelve years ago and apparently he keeps a flame lit for the next decade.”

“I can hardly blame him, especially knowing how you kiss.” His thumb again traced her lips, which had healed by now, and god, the reverence in that gentle gesture was nearly as overwhelming as her orgasm. But then his brow furrowed. “You don’t suppose true love’s kiss is real, do you?”

Emma blinked, confused; where had that come from? “No, probably not, though I wouldn't dare say that around my mom—she most likely believes in it. Why?”

“Granny mentioned something to me last night after the meeting, and I did some research today...were you also aware the prophecies were real?”

“No, I was not.” Though surprised, she listened as Killian told her about Gold and his powers—actual, honest-to-god, dark magical powers—and the prophecy that spelled his end. She wasn’t too surprised that it was kept under wraps, especially given what she’d learned from Zelena last night (which Killian somehow did not know, which made her feel like less of a newb for once).

But most shocking was the fact that Kililan thought she was the one the prophecy talked about. “Fuck.”

“That’s a succinct way of putting it.”

“I don’t word good, so the fewer, the better.” Quips aside, she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the whole thing. “So I might be the only person that can kill Gold and end this whole feud? That’s….a lot.”

“I know, but I want you to know it’s not a burden you carry alone.”

And then the other half hit her: true love. Did that mean…? “So...that’s us? That means we’re—”

“Maybe,” he said softly, probably sensing her panic. She couldn’t deny that she had deep feelings for Killian, but true love? That was...that was her parents, that was fairy tales; that didn’t happen to her.

“I don’t want all that,” she whispered. “I just want to be with you; I don’t want to be responsible for ending some centuries-long feud.” 

“I know, love,” he murmured, and pulled her close; she was nestled into the crook of his neck and other than her dad’s patented hugs, she’s never felt so safe. “It’s not for certain; just a theory, and you’re under no obligation to act on it. But if you choose to, know that I’m here beside you each step of the way.”

“Or we can just run off; go hide in the woods upstate or something. Or Maine—or even Canada; they’d never find us there.”

“Not likely, no,” he chuckled; she could feel the vibration of it through his collarbone onto her cheek. “Maybe a cottage by the seaside somewhere? Some remote little beach?”

“Mm, sounds perfect.” Her parents would understand, right? And even if they didn’t….well, they could deal. “Let’s just do that right now. Let me go catch this skip, and then I’ll pack my bags and we can go.”

She felt more than saw his smile. “As much as I’d love that, I’m afraid I have some other things to attend to this evening.”

Oh right, the fight—how could she forget? “I guess that brawl is kind of pointless then, isn’t it?”

“Aye; perhaps why Gold seemed unperturbed by the idea.”

“Then what’s the point in letting it happen? Do you think you can stop it?” It was probably because she was fairly young and hadn’t been fully indoctrinated to the cause, but the thought of an inconsequential fight that had even a slight chance of becoming something worse—because, with the way tensions ran, that was alway a possibility—made her really nervous.

“I’ll certainly try; I agree, I don’t like the thought of unnecessary fighting, either.” And he’d probably seen more than his fair share of it. “Whatever happens, I’ll come find you when it’s all done—I promise.”

“I will hunt you down if you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

She kissed him again, slower and sweeter than before. “Ugh, I don’t want to go, but this skip will pay rent for a month.”

“I don’t want you to go, but it’d be ungentlemanly to make you late for work.”

“Do you always have to be one?”

“Yes.” 

She sighed. “Fine.”

Thankfully, they had enough time for one more make out, and she was already making a mental note to hit a drug store later for some perfume; his scent was probably embedded in her pores at this point. (She also mentioned he might want to do the same; he said he’d stop by his apartment before heading to the fight.)

Eventually, they righted themselves and made their way out of the room, pausing for one last, slow kiss in the hallway after locking the door.

“Not a moment will go by I don’t think of you,” Killian murmured, but he may as well have shouted it for as hard as it hit her. 

“Good,” she replied, hoping he heard how much she meant the same thing back.

With one final peck, she dashed out the back door and into the night, off to whatever seedy bar she was finding the scumbag-of-the-week. Hopefully, this would be a quick one—she already missed Killian.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

For a moment after Emma left, Killian stood stock still in the hallway, Emma’s scent lingering around him as his fingers traced the feel of her lips on his. That was not at all how he anticipated this encounter to go—he was fairly old fashioned in some senses, especially when it came to someone he wanted to court properly—but any complaint had died before he could give it voice. In a way, they were just making up for lost time, he supposed. 

And he would see to it that they weren’t limited in that regard ahead. 

Granny gave a lascivious wink when he placed the key on the counter in the diner, and he was sure she’d have more to say were the evening crowd (as it were) not filling up the place. He used that to his advantage and took his leave, even though he still had a few hours until he was due anywhere.

He spent a bit of time at the docks, mulling over how they’d changed over the years (and eyeing the ships for sale; he’d had to sell his last one and was in the market for something new, especially if a quick getaway might be needed at some point), before keeping his promise to Emma and stopping at his apartment for some fresh cologne to cover her scent. How no one had noticed it the night before was a mild miracle, but adrenaline would be running strong tonight and senses would be on high alert.

(He so loathed to erase the evidence of her on his person, though.)

There was still time to kill, so he walked slowly (well, for him) in the direction of the lot, even patiently waiting for crossing lights to indicate the all clear rather than dart out early like most New Yorkers did. He should probably find a snack, since he didn’t get to finish his drink at Granny’s; a hunger-like pang was stirring within, but there wasn’t enough time for that now.

The lot was mostly empty when he arrived, and the street oddly quiet; at least that boded well for this rendezvous—and perhaps he’d be able to maintain the peace.

As he got closer, a pinprick of light burned out of the darkness; it took but a millisecond for his eyes to adjust and see that Robin was waiting, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“You’ll smoke yourself into an early grave,” Killian scolded lightly, as he’d done many times before.

“Tis a pity I never got the chance, then, aye?” Robin tossed back. He and his wife had been emigrating to America in the mid-1800s when scarlet fever broke out on their ship; his wife and unborn child didn’t make it, but somehow, Gold had been aboard, and turned Robin before the disease claimed him as well. 

In life, Robin had never had the money to maintain a tobacco habit, but once he found himself with unlimited time—and lungs that would never damage—he’d taken it up with gusto. 

“Just don’t let me catch you vaporizing, or whatever it is,” Killian teased.

“Vaping, and no, never.”

They waited in companionable silence as Robin finished his cigarette and started on another. That caught Killian’s interest; while smoking might be a favored hobby for Robin, he’d never been known to indulge in chain smoking—unless he was nervous.

Footsteps on the other end of the lot drew their attention; David, Graham, and the others (though thankfully not Zelena) stepped from the shadows. At the sight, the twisting in his gut coiled again, and an ancient feeling washed over him: trepidation. He hadn’t felt that since...god, not since Yorktown.

And that clearly ended well. (He thought to himself, sarcastically.)

He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his sense of dread; it was certainly not the first time the two teams had gone head-to-head (even if he hoped it might be the last). He couldn’t count the number of lives lost to the feud over the centuries—thankfully few innocent ones, but the number of siblings-in-arms sacrificed to the cause was far too high.

He’d never been nervous before any of those encounters. So why was this one giving him anxiety?

(Because so much was riding on this. Because he didn’t want to let Emma down.)

Will and Henry appeared out of nowhere, suddenly behind them, and if it was possible for the scene to get even more silent, it did. The men were lined up shoulder to shoulder in two opposing lines; it was like the standoff in a terrible spaghetti western, but without the benefit of a Morricone score.

The tension was palpable as they all stood stone-still, waiting for the other side to make any sort of move. It would have been the perfect time for Killian to intervene—convince them all to back down—but he was too worried that even so much as a pin drop would make waves.

In the end, it turned out to be the drop of cigarette ash that sent things into motion; Robin’s burnt end had barely hit the ground before he and Graham were on top of each other, snarling and slashing in the middle of the carpark.

An outsider would have thought it was some strange dance, or possibly performance art, with the way they clamored at each other but never seemed to land any blows. But Killian’s keen eyes could see each dodge of a body from a clawing limb, their extended fangs thirsting for blood, and the way Graham curled inward when Robin landed a first, firm punch on the other man’s stomach; that finally drew Killian from his stupor.

“No; that’s enough!” he shouted, then put himself between them. “We don’t need to do this.”

Despite his advanced age, he didn’t have as much an advantage over the two of them as he thought he did; they simply jumped away and continued. Before he could step in again, a firm hand had him by the shoulder.

“Hey, this was your idea; what kind of power grab is this?” David growled; his other hand was curled into a fist. Should have known he’d be itching for a fight, too.

“You really think this will solve anything?” Killian spat. “Our bosses don’t care; this goes way beyond us, mate.”

Killian threw him off and made for the other two, who were now wrapped in what he guessed was some sort of wrestling move, arms gripped on the other’s shoulders. But before he got all the way there, David jumped in front of him.

“I’m not your mate.” David was glaring and trying to use his height advantage to intimidate, but Killian wouldn’t dare hurt the father of his love, even if he was his opponent at the moment.

“Fine, but I’m not your enemy either; you don’t even know what you’re fighting for.”

“You think I don’t know?” Now he was moving toward Killian—though, over his shoulder, he could see that Robin had landed another punch, this time on Graham’s chest. “Aurum turned me and my wife against our will. Aurum made our daughter grow up without her parents. You just take and take, and do whatever you want without facing the consequences. And now, what—you think you can get out of them because you might lose?” The irony in that statement, of course, being that Robin had now hit Graham in the jaw, who had paused to cradle his sore chin.

“But you have her now; doesn’t that count for anything?” Killian pleaded.

He realized as soon as he said it that he’d made a grave error. David stopped, taken aback. “How did you know that?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Killian didn’t take the time to answer; with any luck, that would be explained later. He jumped on the opportunity presented and dashed toward Robin and Graham again, pushing Robin away as he was about to make what would likely be the winning blow. 

“Bloody hell, mate,” Robin sputtered, and Killian was about to reply, except he was suddenly face down on the pavement after something that felt vaguely like a foot hit him in the back.

“What game are you playing, Jones?” David yelled from above, giving Killian a good idea of who had attacked him. He was back on his feet in an instant, and so were the rest of the gangs, all around them. Fuck; so much for not bringing anyone else in.

It was Robin’s turn to step in front of Killian. “Are you trying to start a rumble, Nolan?”

“I didn’t start anything, but I will if that’s what you want.” Next to him, Graham pulled a suspiciously long, slender object from a pocket, and the subsequent swish of the weapon confirmed: he had a switchblade.

And a second later, Robin had pulled his own out. 

They were immediately back on top of each other, with the others egging them on— “Right in the heart, Robin!” “Go for the neck, Graham!”

Killian’s lone attempt to pull Graham back (he was the closest to him at the time) ended with him also being pulled away by Jefferson; he and David restrained Killian and while he might have been able to shake off one of them, the two of them together were too much. He had to watch helplessly as the two in the center continued to swipe at each other, blades glinting dangerously in the murky streetlights.

It was still only until first blood, right? And that was bound to happen faster now that sharp edges were involved.

Almost in slow motion, he watched as the tip of Robin’s blade sliced at Graham’s cheek, leaving behind a thin line of red. He sighed in relief, little as he needed that breath; that was it—it was done.

David and Jefferson loosened their grip on him and he shook them off, not withholding a glare in David’s direction. He then turned to face Robin, to get him—all of them—out of there as quickly as possible, but his voice got stuck in his throat.

While Robin had barely relaxed, let down his guard for the briefest of seconds, Graham lunged at him and sank his blade into Robin’s chest.

Into Robin’s heart.

The world stood still for a moment as everyone stared in shock, and the reality of what just happened washed over Killian. It wasn’t until Graham jerked the blade free, dripping blood—Robin’s blood—on the ground, that he was jolted enough from his stupor to move.

“No!” Killian screamed, then ran to his friend just as he collapsed. “No, no, no,” he muttered, pressing a hand against Robin’s wound, but there was no use for it—a vampire was just as susceptible to that kind of stabbing as a mortal was.

Robin was gasping for air, useless as it was, as his lifeblood spilled out onto the asphalt below him, quite literally draining the life from him; little would be left in a few moments but ash and memories. If Killian could cry, he’d have been sobbing.

“Tell—tell ‘gina—” Robin stammered, but was quickly losing energy.

He knew what he was asking, anyways. “I’ll tell Regina,” he promised.

With his last bit of strength, Robin wrapped his hand around Killian’s and squeezed, smiling, as death finally came for him. It was fast—too fast, but wounds like that always led to a quick death.  It wasn’t the first time Killian had held another person as they disintegrated in his hold, but it was by far the most painful. And the most unwarranted.

The dust that had been Robin settled in the air around him, landing on his hand where blood was still fresh. In more ways than one, Killian began to see red.

Without thinking, he grabbed Robin’s abandoned switchblade and in one swift moment, stood and shoved it at Graham, instinctively finding his most vulnerable spot.

Graham stammered back, pulling the weapon out—and hastening his own demise. All too quickly, he collapsed on his knees, his team gathering around him, and a moment later, he too was ash.

A sharp wind off the ocean blew Graham’s remains toward Killian, bringing with them the realization of what he had done:

He’d killed a member of Emma’s coven—practically her family.

And he’d done nothing to end the feud; if anything, he escalated it.

Bloody fuck, what had he done?

And what could he do now?

He stared in horror at the blood around him, trying to formulate a plan, when Will blessedly broke the fragile silence.

“Rozzers!” he shouted, then began to run, only to see no one else move. “Cops?” he translated into American English, which got the reaction he was looking for; everyone hopped to their feet and ran. No one wanted to explain this scene to mortal police.

Everyone but Killian. He wondered if his feet had become concrete, he was so rooted in place. It wasn’t until Will was in his face, urging him to move, that he did.

“Do you have somewhere to lay low? I don’t think Coroza is gonna let this one go,” he asked as they dashed from the lot.

His thoughts immediately turned to Emma, suicidal as that likely was. Could he drag her into this? Or would that be the least likely place they’d look?

He’d have to risk it. “Aye, I do.”

“Alright, then go; the less I know the better. Good luck, mate,” Will told him, then ran in another direction; belatedly, Killian realized, headed toward where Belle lived. 

There was no time to dwell on that, though, and he changed course to head uptown. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he knew one thing: whatever it was, he wanted Emma at his side.

(Assuming, that is, she forgave him.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @lfh1226-linda​

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[samwrights]

I Don’t Care - Punk!AU [Kuroo]

Me: *hits a milestone* I should give back to my community by fulfilling requests *posts an Elixir chapter instead*

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your kind words and patience regarding my abrupt hiatus last week. I’m gonna be on a slow roll for awhile with Grandpa Frenchy’s passing and me resuming my normal-ish life as work goes back to regular hours and school will be resuming in less than two months. But I’m gonna do my best to feed y’all when I can.

Remember that if you’re confused with what’s going on, that’s probably because this is the second installment of Kuroo’s Elixir route and need to read the first part which can be found here. Also, artwork is not mine so if we can find the artist, please let me know so that they can be properly credited!

Lyrics that are bolded are sung by Kuroo, while lyrics that are italicized are sung by you and if they are both, they are harmonized.

WARNINGS: Language, implied nsfw, mentions of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~2.9k

Song used: I Don’t Care if You’re Contagious by Pierce the Veil

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

The ball was in your court. That was what Kuroo had said to you last night. What that didn’t entail was the two of you christening every room in your little one bedroom apartment into the early hours in the morning. It shouldn’t have surprised you at all that Kuroo had a quick recovery time; after all he was a cocky little shit and apparently for good reason.

You were going to need to send apology baskets to your neighbors at some point when this was all said and done.

The ball was in your court, he said, and that somehow brought you to the following afternoon with you and Kuroo laying naked in your bed. Both of you were awake, you knew that, yet neither of you wanted to say anything to break the silence. Neither of you needed to—you were both finally home. Nestling yourself further into Kuroo’s blackened chest is what pulled the guitarist from his wandering thoughts, coercing him to look down at your shifting body. “Not comfy anymore?” His voice is thick with sleep still, and probably raw from dehydration.

“Trust me, I am. But we should probably go get ready.”

“Ugh,” the raven haired man groans, “right, we have a show.”

“Yes, honey, we have a show. Time to go make all twelve of our fans happy for thirty minutes.” He laughs heartily at the jab before pulling you on top of him in the most platonic way. Well, as platonic as you could be when you both were completely naked. You take the opportunity to look at him fully. Though his eyes were darkened from the lack of sleep, Tetsurō Kuroo was every bit as pretty as he was the day you’d met him ten years ago—even if his skin was now covered from neck to toe in black and white and bold-colored works of art and you could fit a single digit through the stretch of his earlobes. If anything, it added to his charm in your eyes.

Subconsciously, your fingers travel down his throat, just grazing over the three traditional style roses that cover it, before dancing over the skulls on his chest. As they trace over one of his pierced nipples, he lets out a grumble that’s a mixture of pleased and in warning. “You start playing with me, I’m not gonna stop.” And after last night, you knew that he wasn’t kidding.

“Fine, fine.” You concede, retreating in the form of resting your head on his chest. Silence fills the two of you again, allowing you to recount yesterday’s events that didn’t involve Kuroo impaling you. “You broke up with Nanami.” It wasn’t a question, but he answers it as if it were.

“I did,” there’s suspicion and trepidation in his voice, as if he’s weary of the direction this conversation is going. “What about it?” Searching for reassurance, he winds his arms around your waist, simultaneously goading you into continuing your statement.

“Nothing, I just...” you aren’t even sure what you’re trying to say at this point. “I just feel like a lot has happened in the last twenty four hours and I still need to process everything.”

“I can help if you need me to jog your memory about anything,” Kuroo’s tone is polite—sweet, even—and entirely contradictory with the thrust of his bare hips into yours.

“Tetsu, I’m being serious.” You deadpan, pretending that you didn’t feel that tiny spark in your core from the movement. Last night he may have been able to coerce you with touch, and even more in the long hours into the morning, but you weren’t going to be fooled again. At least not right now.

“I am too.” He adjusts himself slightly again so that he’s cradling you, eerily similar to last night, with you pulled over his lap. Despite the lack of clothing, there’s no humor or deviancy on his face—he’s completely calm and self-assured. “I know this situation isn’t ideal and this definitely isn’t the way I ever pictured us being together,” the sentence doesn’t go over your head—you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bring some sort of pleasure to you, “but all that matters to me is that you want this as much as I do.”

You knew what this was. Kuroo was giving you the chance to back out—to move forward without him if you so desired.

But what was the point of living life without your best friend? Lacking a cohesive thought, you rested you head on Kuroo’s chest once again, letting the guitarist’s steady heartbeat bring ease to you. Maybe you were going about this all wrong. For the last ten years, it had taken everything in you try to mute the feelings that you had for Kuroo, or attempt to pass them off as a deep respect for your guys’ friendship. But that wasn’t what this was anymore; this was your guys’ relationship. “It’s a learning curve,” you start slowly, “but I’m willing to try and make this work if you are.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, babe.”

The two of you move about your day in a way that’s exploratory for the two of you—like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other. In a sense, that was an accurate depiction. Your guitarist makes it a point to make the both of you the first meal of the day, complete with setting the table and even doing the dishes. Showering together for the first time was odd, to say the least. It was an intimate form of learning and exploration that neither of you had ever thought the two of you would be able to bask in. After having lunch and getting ready for the show tonight, to which you learned that Kuroo had brought clothes with him in the event he did end up staying over, the two of you took his car over to Terushima’s house.

“No fucking way,” Terushima balks at the sight of you two briefly sharing a kiss as he holds the passenger door open for you while your other two bandmates are loading up the van. “He finally confessed! Makki!” The drummer calls for his best friend who’s walking out the door with two guitar cases in his hand. Without needing much context, the bassist quirks a brow in yours and Kuroo’s direction.

“You finally told her?” Is all he asks.

“You all fucking knew about this? Man, fuck you guys.” The incredulity in your voice earns a chorus of laughter from your bandmates.

“Dude, I don’t know how you didn’t figure it out sooner. The way he used to talk to you at work wasn’t a dead giveaway?” Makki is laughing, grinning even, despite his usual deadpan attitude. You try to think back to any particular instance, but nothing was as obvious as the rest of Elixir was making it seem. Sure, Kuroo was rather touchy and there was more than one case of his fingers touching your waist from behind while you took orders or made drinks. But there isn’t anything that he said that would necessarily incriminate him—

Oh.

“Now she remembers.” Kuroo jokes. He’d left your side at some point, when you weren’t entirely sure, to help the boys finish loading up. “Told ya, [name], I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Gross, you guys are so cute, it makes me sick.” A roll of Teru’s bronze eyes are accompanied with the slamming of the back of the shoddy vehicle. Knowing it was going to probably be a minute or two, the drummer flitted off with Makki to do god knows what, probably off to go kill a blunt if you were being honest, in preparation for the evening, leaving you to curiously gaze at the cracks in the concrete driveway with a cigarette between your fingers.

“There’s no way you meant that back then.” Your voice isn’t accusatory or judgmental—merely flabbergasted as your guitarist leaned on his car right next to you.

“I did and I still do,” is his response, pulling his own Marlboro Red between his thin lips, “I’ve been saying it since day one and I never stopped saying it for ten years.” His bulky arm comes to wrap around your shoulders, nearly swallowing you due to the difference in stature. Yet, despite his sweet words, something wasn’t adding up.

“Kuroo, you never said anything to me besides that one time you told a regular that I was your future wife.” He shakes his head slightly, a laugh rumbling audibly in his chest as he rolls up the jersey fabric of his long sleeves. Pressing his knuckles together so you can see them clear as day, he responds with,

“Homesick was for you, because you always said how being together felt like home.” And suddenly, you feel like time was regressing as he begins to point out the subtleties you never noticed previously. “All of the roses are for every time I swore I was going to confess,” you knew for a fact that Kuroo had seven roses littered along his skin: three on his throat, one on each hand, and one on each of his pecs. “the lipstick marks are from ‘Contagious’ because I wrote it for you. I’ve been saying it since day one, [name].” 

“Wait, you wrote ‘Contagious’ for me?!” At that admission, you weren’t sure whether or not you should have been pleased or disturbed. There were themes hidden in the song that could be viewed as romantic, but overall the song was quite morose and not to be considered a love song at first glance. Maybe that was the point.

“Oh, baby, you’re so dense it hurts.”

“So how’s everyone doing tonight? We feelin’ good? Feelin’ the love?” You ask into your microphone after the four of you had completed the one fully acoustic song, “A Part of Me”. Who knew that Hanamaki had such a romantic side to him? It was cute, considering the lax man typically didn’t show much emotion except when he was performing. “So, we’re gonna keep the love theme going—“ your eyes dart over to your guitarist who is grinning like an idiot. It seemed that the pieces were finally coming together in the sense that you knew.

You knew that he was dead set on making good on every promise he’d ever made to you and Kuroo was going to make this known to every fan in the rather large audience tonight as he interrupts your spiel. “I wrote this one a few years ago for someone I’d been pining after for years so if you’re in the same boat that I was in, make sure you tell them you love them.” The guitarist chimes in, his goofy, wicked grin only growing wider. “Love you, [name].” The proclamation does not go amiss by you, your bandmates, nor your audience that housed familiar faces that swore up and down they wouldn’t be in attendance tonight. But neither you nor Kuroo noticed the aforementioned stranger—only noticing the sly, subtle grin the two of you exchanged before the guitarist gave a shrill whine of his instrument that started the song.

Even before realizing this song was...written? Dedicated? However you viewed it, this song was for you and before that knowledge had even been made known to you, you’d always found it to be a strange, enticing verbal dance between you and the guitarist. You and Kuroo often teetered back and forth like a seesaw, bouncing between lines as he intended when he wrote it. It only charged the chemical static between the two of you further now that you understood who it was written about.

Bury me in the bedroom where I I can sing you to sleep all night

Considering the nature of the song, Kuroo and you had your eyes locked on each other’s to make sure the two of you were keeping time and tempo with the other. Or at least, that was what you were supposed to be doing. But with the way the guitarist’s hazel eyes were dancing with amusement and comfort like he was aware of some joke you had no idea existed.

I’d rather kill the one responsible for falling stars at night

It amused you, to some degree, just how all over the place this song was. And while you had known that back when it came to fruition, the air was different now. It was wild and fun and laced with underlying feelings that left you feeling alive much like the last twenty four hours had. Though the hesitance that first presented itself yesterday was no longer there—you believed everything Kuroo had said. The years of pining, the futile attempt to move on, even the way he marred his skin as a physical representation of his dedication to you—you believed it all.

Last night she recited every reason she’s fine

In a way, it made you feel a little silly. Silly in the way that you had felt you hadn’t been able to trust your best friend after all these years, like you couldn’t tell him you had been homesick for him. Keeping up a facade for all those years had only served to hurt and distance the two of you for no reason. Now, the two of you were going to heal, going to focus on rebuilding that home as soon as this show was over.

You sing while I drive

Not once did it go amiss, the way Kuroo glanced at you, hazel eyes flickering back between you and towards the barricade in the audience to your right. At first, it seemed nonchalant; like it was an attempt to engage with the crowd as he typically did. But Kuroo was always meticulous and calculating with his actions, and that lead you to glance in the same direction while you sang your respective lines in the second verse.

I would rather spend my life Vacations in bed with you like drunken summer kites

So that’s why he was looking over there. Funny, considering Nanami had explicitly said that she was unable to make it to the show because of some piss poor excuse of her fabricated brother coming back into town. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an awkward situation. But it wasn’t your fault she had been caught in a lie, nor was it your fault that Kuroo had decided to break up with her last night. Well, okay, maybe it was a little. But it wasn’t your fault she felt the need to grace the audience with her present after saying she wasn’t going to show up. It wasn’t your fault she was red in the face as she glanced at the on-stage chemistry between you and her now ex-boyfriend.

To live in life and die

None of that even mattered anymore, and Kuroo made sure to reassure you of that by the silly way he’s grinning slyly as the end of the song nears. For a moment, you look at each of your bandmates to see if they were watching, paying attention to the telepathic messages going on between the four of you.

I don’t care if you’re sick

Hanamaki, though he’s wearing his typical glassed out look, is reciprocating a languid smile—one you were all too familiar with. Makki was the kinda that had your back regardless of the situation, and he made sure his expression reflected it often.

I don’t care if you’re contagious

Looking back at Terushima, you can see the snark and the itch to fight underneath his sweaty, glistening skin. As if he knew what the hidden glances between you and Kuroo meant; as if he knew some shit was about to go down and he was all over it.

I would kiss you even if you were dead

And finally, you glance back at Kuroo as the two of you harmonized the final bridge. Calm and cocky as ever, with red lighting serving to be nearly ominous. Though, it only made the reds of the roses on his skin shine more and serve as a reminder—they were for you. All seven roses from his neck, to his chest peeking from underneath his black tank, from his shoulder to his hand.

So if we’re heading there together you can sing all night

It served as a reminder that no matter what was to come after the show, the two of you would face it together. Even if that meant confronting the entire awkward Nanami situation that you knew was coming. Not that you minded—you were ready to defend Kuroo and yourself from any impending onslaught.

I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin ‘Til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention

As Kuroo belted out his favorite stanza, he locked eyes with you, turning his body to face you entirely. Amusement danced in his eyes, not that it ever left, but this one was painted with something more. Painted with love, painted with lust, painted with home. The guitarist took slow, steady steps matching the rhythm of his words and letting the bass and drums overtake the sound as he grabbed his mic off his stand—an action you mirrored with your own microphone in hand until the two of you were face to face with the reverberation of his last played note floating in the air.

Kiss me while I drive

The song ended with a pronounced yell coming from Hanamaki and yourself before Kuroo places his microphone back on his stand; all but rushing over to you and choking your face in his large, tattooed hands and slatting his lips over yours. In front of everyone—in front your band, your fans, in front of Nanami. He’d made his proclamation in front of everyone and nothing had ever felt more right.

[ Besitos « I Don’t Care » Misery Business ]

Need to start from the beginning? You can check out the prologue [ here ]

Haikyuu!! Tag List

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[ravenforce]

Ithaca Pt. 2

Word Count: 2031

Warning/s: None

A/N: Hey loves, a deal is a deal. You got part one to over a hundred notes, so here’s part two. Natasha’s playing a huge part on this arc. So, I thought it’ll be good for you to get to know her in this alternate universe. Let me know what you think of it in my inbox or the comment section. Xx

PS. If there are any grammatical mistakes I’ve still overlooked, I apologize.

Parts: 1 | 3 | 4 | 5

***

5:30 AM

The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table reads. She blinked twice at it before sighing. She woke up earlier than her alarm again, not that she’s actually excited to go to school. Today, she’s actually supposed to tour the new transfer student, which is, by the way, is not her job as the Student Council President but Clint is out of commission for the week for some Intercollegiate archery competition in Washington DC. So, as President, she had to step in and do it.

‘At least, this is gonna be different from yesterday’, she thought to herself as she rolls out of bed.

Living in Ithaca since she’s a child meant Natasha knew the city like the back of her hand, knew almost every single family in town and went to school with the same kids since the beginning of her existence. It also meant being friends with founding family kids like the Odinsons, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, and Steve Rogers since forever ago. She was the only girl in their group until Carol Danvers moved in when they were eight. Maria transferred to their school and was easily adapted to their crew when they were thirteen. The last addition to their gang was Valkyrie and Wanda, who migrated somewhere from Europe when they’re fifteen.

Six years after, a new person arrives in Ithaca. The school didn’t give her a lot of information regarding the new student, only that it is a woman and Stark level intelligent. She tried to dig up info on her own, and thankfully she didn’t have to go far for a source since apparently the new girl is close friends with Tony and best friends with Maria. Maria is one busy nerd to track down though, and they don’t share a lot of classes together. So, Natasha wasn’t able to get too many details from her aside from a departing comment.

“Relax, Nat. She’s amazing; smart but not obnoxious like Tony,” Maria said before practically running towards her next class. She considers herself pretty intrigued.

‘How can someone be as smart as Tony and not be obnoxious? That sounds like an oxymoron,’ Natasha thought to herself.

***

6:00 AM

Natasha is the only founding family kid who liked being awake at the wee hours of the morning. She likes getting ahead of everybody, and she thinks better when the world is still asleep. So, being in school at the crack of dawn isn’t new too for anyone. Even the groundskeepers let her nowadays.

“Good Morning, Miss Romanoff,” the old security lady at the studio greeted her. 

“Good Morning, Mrs. Miller,” Natasha smiled before logging in her credentials. 

“Early start today?” Mrs. Miller asked politely and jovially. 

“Yes, Clint is away for a tournament. So I have to give the grounds tour to the transfer student later,” Nat explained with a smile. Mrs. Miller didn’t respond and just waved Natasha inside.

Natasha’s been doing ballet ever since she can remember. At first, she was doing it because her family wanted her to and all of the founding family children are doing one extracurricular activity every after school. Thor has been sailing since he learned how to walk, Loki, on the other hand, preferred fencing. Clint tried equestrian for awhile but his heart and talents were really in archery. Steve got so good in lacrosse that he ended up with a sports scholarship playing one. Tony chose chess because he deemed contact sports barbaric; he believes the battle of the wits is better than a physical brawl, which Steve always take as an offense. 

Being the only girl in their group, Natasha decided that ballet is her yoga. The boys know not to come within a hundred yards of the studio whenever Natasha’s practicing. Ballet has become Natasha’s sanctuary away from the noise and the usual ruckus of the boys. She shed everything inside the studio but today, Natasha finds it nearly impossible to focus on the movements and the music. Her thoughts keep drifting to the conversation she had with Tony the day prior about the new student. 

“Nat, what are you fuzzing about? It’s just a school tour,” Tony complained. He was tinkering around his home lab when Natasha arrived and being a regular visitor, she was allowed to roam and look for Tony herself. 

“I just wanna know what she looks like. So I know who to look for in the morning crowd,” she whined. 

Tony put his stuff down, pull the safety goggles off his face and looked at his friend. If Nat has been any other girl, she would have melted in the way Tony was looking at her. 

“Oh, trust me, you won’t miss her,” Tony said simply before smiling and walking out of his lab. “She’s breathtaking, in more ways than just physical.”

Natasha groaned and scrambled to follow her friend and bug him for more information.

***

7:00 AM

Natasha cut her practice short since she couldn’t focus. She showered and got ready in record time. She was leaning against the handrail of the front steps of the school, scrolling through her Instagram feed when she looked up and saw a face she didn’t know. Her fingers hovered over her phone mid-swipe, thankfully she had enough grace at that moment not to have her mouth hanging open as she gaped at the transfer student. She’s wearing a very preppy outfit, which wasn’t really Natasha’s style or the style girls she usually goes after but something about this girl that makes her stomach flutter with nervous butterflies.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, all trace of her nervousness gone when the girl came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Who’s asking?” the girl asked.

Natasha watched the girl take her in. She reined in the urge to squirm under the Y/N’s eyes. For God’s sake, she’s Natasha Romanoff. Various girls all over town wants her, she’s by no means gonna squirm under a stranger’s beautiful eyes.  

“Natasha Romanoff. Student Council President,” she introduced herself confidently to take back control. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Natasha smirked as the new girl blushed profusely before smiling up at her. “Pleasure is all mine,” she said.

‘Breathtaking is an understatement’ she thought to herself when she saw Y/N’ smile. Natasha’s not a sap, she doesn’t plan on being one but at that moment, she thought she’d do anything to make you smile at her every day.

“I’m here to give you the grounds tour,” Natasha explained before pulling the door open and prompting you to walk with her.

Usually, when she had to cover grounds tour for Clint, Natasha almost always wraps it up under forty-five minutes. She just points which buildings houses which classes, where the important areas are such as the library and the mess hall. Today, with you by her side, Natasha found herself giving her first, in-depth school tour. Literally giving out facts and even stupid trivia when she remembers it.

Natasha walked as leisurely as possible to prolong her time with you but she knew you have a 9 AM class. And she might not be as nerdy as Tony but she’s not gonna skip class, let alone make you on your first day of school.

***

8:30 AM

Natasha’s one of the quiet ones in her crew that’s why she get along spectacularly with Maria. Both of you filled the walk towards the art building with polite small talk about which classes you two take, how you finished a degree at eighteen and in one of the toughest schools in the country at that, and how you’re friends with Maria and Tony. God, Natasha didn’t want the tour to end. She didn’t want you to stop talking, which is new because Natasha finds it annoying when people don’t know when to shut up. She wants to get to know you more.

Her heart sunk a little when she caught you discreetly glancing at your watch but by the number of kids watching the two of you in the hallway, she knew that class is fast approaching. She decided to be a little playful.

“Oh,” Natasha gasped and frowned. “Am I boring you?” she asked quietly.

“What?!” you exclaimed, earning a few curious looks from students in the hallway.

Natasha watched the emotions play out across your face, and she thought you’re even more fascinating. She’s been friends all her life with Tony, another Mensa student, another genius. She thought you’d be obnoxiously cool and a little indifferent like him but in the past hour and a half, Natasha found you brilliant but not condescending, warm, and empathetic.

“No, no, you’re not boring. I was just wondering if I’m allowed to skip the first period on my first day of school because this is by far the coolest school tour I’ve ever done,” you rambled on.

Natasha couldn’t help but grin. If she paid attention to anyone else other than you, she would have noticed several students openly gawking at the toothy smile on her face. Natasha’s reputation was not built on being chummy with just anyone, especially new kids. But she wasn’t looking, she could only look at you. She will be caught dead before she admits to having a school girl crush at first meet but at that moment, in that crowded hallway, she decided she definitely likes you. She just has to find out if she has a fighting chance.

“You’re cute when you ramble,” she said matter-of-factly. “And no, you’re not allowed to skip the first period because you’re here.”

“Oh,” you said before glancing at the classroom door.

Natasha took a step towards you and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “See you later, Y/L/N,” she said slowly, watching the blush crept up from your neck before dusting your cheeks.

‘Beautiful, so beautiful,’ she thought before turning on her heels and gracefully walking away.

“Blushing doesn’t mean she’s gay. Maybe she’s just the shy type, I can work with that,” she murmured to herself while walking to her classroom. She looked up when she heard soft muttering in front of her.

“Danvers!” she growled. Carol’s pressing a girl between her toned body and the wall.

Carol didn’t even have to look to know who it is that interrupted her. She knows that voice anywhere. “Tasha,” she said sweetly.

Natasha didn’t smile, she only continued to glare until the girl pushed Carol away and scrambled to get to her classroom. Carol swipe a hand through her hair before turning towards her friend. Natasha glanced at her watch.

“You’re ten minutes late already,” Nat started. “And your class is on the other side of the campus.”

Carol ignored the fact that Natasha still knows her schedule. She walked towards the redhead until she’s toe to toe with Natasha. Natasha didn’t step back, she’s used to Carol always invading her personal space.

“I got that class in the bag, Tasha. Relax,” Carol whispered before leaning in, kissing Natasha close to her mouth, and running away.  

#avengers imagine #oceans 8 imagine #avengers x oceans 8 #avengers x reader #oceans 8 x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #carol danvers x reader #maria hill x reader #natasha romanoff #carol danvers #maria hill #tony stark #thor odinson #loki odinson #clint barton #bruce banner #valkyrie #wanda maximoff #steve rogers #bucky barnes #avengers #oceans 8 #imagine #raven writes

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 44: Truth And Dare

[WARNING: NSFW]

We spend the rest of the day in an odd sort of domestic bliss. William has been writing in his bedroom, and I have have been reading in mine. I get up from the bed when I hear his door open and close, only to find Puck in the hallway, pawing at the wood. He must have gotten kicked out for distracting William.

I scoop the bunny into my arms and make my way to the kitchen, where I make myself a sandwich with some cheese I find wrapped in cloth in a cupboard, and sit down to eat it along with some rouge.

“No, bichito, you can’t eat this,” I tell Puck when he climbs onto my lap to sniff the bread. “What is it? Are you hungry?” He wiggles his nose and stares at me with beady eyes, but does not give up his pursuit of my sandwich. “Okay,” I sigh, standing up again. I leave my food on the tall kitchen counter, out of the rabbit’s reach, and rummage around the kitchen for something to give him.

I give up soon enough, unable to find any vegetables, and opt to ask William for instructions. I noticed the little garden at the back of the house, and figured he must use it to feed Puck, but I want to make sure.

He opens the door quickly after I knock. It takes me a second to remember what I wanted to say. We have not talked about this morning. In fact, it’s like it never happened at all. It’s... strange, to say the least, even uncomfortable, but I do not know if I should bring up the topic of my attraction for him again. I doubt he feels anything beyond playful curiosity for me, and I still haven’t gotten over Leonardo. The way thinking of him helped me calm down at the café certainly surprised me, though. My attachment to him is obvious, but I never thought he would become my anchor, much less so after having ended our brief relationship.

“Um, uh...” I finally stammer. “I think Puck is hungry. I have no idea what rabbits can eat.”

“Oh,” William chuckles. “Well, I keep a basil plant in the back yard for him. Celery, clover... Carrot tops are alright too, but do not feed him the carrot itself. ‘Tis a treat only,” he explains.

“Okay, cool.”

I quickly turn and begin walking away, but he grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop.

“Anaïs, wait.” That makes me look at him. He only calls me by my name when he’s serious. “I have been wondering where the events from this morning leave us.”

“Yeah, me too...” I mutter.

“Thou should know that I am unusually fond of thee. I would not be opposed should thou choose to-”

“I don’t know,” I interrupt. “Part of me wants to, but part of me knows it’s not gonna end well. Not for me, at least. Not when it’s you.”

“I can’t promise I will not break thine heart,” he says slowly, “but I can promise thee this: if it ends badly, it shall be my downfall as well. The stakes are as high for me as they are for thee.”

“Perhaps, but we’re not even playing the same game,” I retort. “Are you just trying to get close to me to further whatever ulterior motives I’m sure you have, or are you actually interested in me that way?” I ask, pulling away from him. 

“Thou art not any better, my sweet nightshade. Thou said so thyself, the only reason thou hast come to me is distrust.”

“Yeah, but that was before-” I cut myself off before I can finish the sentence. What the hell was I going to say, ‘before I developed a crush on you’? I absolutely blame this nonsense on vampire puberty, no matter what he says. He has a point, though. I am not as innocent as I have tried to convince myself I am. Sure, I might be attracted to William, but I must not forget why I came here in the first place. If my feelings need to be put on the line in order to find out what he’s up to, then so be it. “Fuck it,” I declare out loud. “Let’s do this.”

I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him into a kiss. He smiles into it, satisfied with my decision, and buries a hand in my hair as the other grabs my waist. We stumble into his bedroom, and I kick the door closed behind me.

“Wait,” I rasp against his lips before pulling away. “We’re really doing this?”

“Only if thou art willing,” he answers. “Art thou?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smirks, and swiftly attacks my lips again, deepening the kiss. 

My arms snake around the back of his neck, where I begin playing with his soft hair. My fingers then trail down to the collar of his shirt and latch onto the top button, undoing it slowly. William takes the suddenly tedious labor from my hands, and I pull away from the kiss to observe him. He undresses slowly, his eyes fixed on mine as a smirk grows on his lips. The performer that he is is giving me a show.

‘Your turn’, his eyes seem to say when the fabric slides off his shoulders, baring his torso. He makes no attempt to touch me again. No, he wants me to do it on my own. I oblige his unspoken request and begin to slowly unbutton my own blouse. I feel vulnerable under his patient gaze. The sound of my own nervous heartbeat makes me hesitate, accelerated by the aura of danger that seems to emanate from William whenever I cross paths with him. But I am here to stay this time. I feel like prey, but I won’t run. I want to be his, if only for this very moment, regardless of how long it lasts.

I don’t stop until the last of my garments hits the floor. There I stand, fully naked for William to see, too caught up in the thrill of the moment to think of anything else. He comes closer as his gaze falls to my breasts.

 No, that is not what he is looking at. He reaches up to delicately trace what’s left of the bullet wound with his index finger. Unlike the rest of my scars, this one has not disappeared completely, and I suspect that neither has the entry hole on my back. Thanks to le Comte turning me to save my life, it healed abnormally quickly, leaving behind a rounded, misshapen indent on the left side of my chest. It has a silver tone to it, paler than the rest of my skin, and looks only slightly worse the scar usually left behind by a smallpox vaccine.

“I am terribly sorry for causing that unfortunate incident, my nightshade,” William mutters, suddenly serious. “To be forever marked like that...”

“Do I look like I care about marks on my body?” I chuckle, lifting my heavily tattooed arm in front of his face in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. 

I wonder what he meant by ‘forever’. Will this scar not fade eventually like the others? Either way, now is not the time to think about that. William seems to agree, because that lustful shine returns to his eyes as he moves on from the bullet wound to cup my breast. His touch is careful, like that of a museum curator handling an ancient, invaluable artefact.

I remain completely still as he begins to slowly circle around me. His hand slides up my collarbone, then down my shoulder and along my arm, following the black outline of the leaves that are permanently etched onto my skin. He comes to a stop right above the back of my elbow.

“Is that Vincent’s?” he asks, intrigued by the familiar style of the sunflower. I nod. He then leans in from behind to whisper into my ear. “Careful, my lady. Thou might make me jealous.”

“It’s from before I met him.” My voice comes out softer than I anticipated, breathy and nervous from William’s possessive tone. It sends shivers down my spine. “I just like his art, that’s all,” I quietly explain.

I feel him suddenly pull away from me, but I do not turn around to see what he’s doing. I stay completely immobile as he comes back to stand behind me, so close that his chest is touching my back. He gently pulls a soft fabric over my eyes. The red silk ribbon from last night. I do not fight it this time. I read somewhere that, when one sense is taken away, the rest become heightened, better. I wonder how much more I could perceive deprived of my vision. Everything already feels so different since I turned...

He finishes tying the ribbon into a secure knot on the back of my head. I gasp when his fingers brush against the spot on my back where I know the other scar is, matching the one on my chest.

“Come, Anaïs,” he says softly. “Lay down for me.”

I let him guide me to the bed. As much as I refuse to trust William, I must at least pretend I do if I want to get anywhere with my little investigation. The only way to earn his trust is to prove that he has mine.

Though I am terrified, I blindly oblige his request and lay down. What’s the worst he could do, kill me? That is not something I have ever been particularly afraid of. Besides, I doubt it is what William wants.

“Put your arms up.”

I obey. Almost immediately, I feel something soft wrap around my wrists. He’s tying me up. The idea of being bound by him, so vulnerable and at his mercy, makes my breathing accelerate.

“Relax,” he whispers. “Give me a single word and I will free thee. I would never do this against thine will.”

“Okay,” I breath out, reassured. It is hard to be afraid when he is so gentle, so attentive. But alas, that does not make me any less nervous. I have never done this before, willingly submitting to someone like this, and I don’t know what to expect. “I trust you,” I quietly state, partially to convince myself of the fact as much as him. And so, my performance begins.

I feel the mattress sink where William climbs onto the bed beside me and begins laying a trail of kisses down my neck. He makes his way down my body in an infuriatingly slow manner, but I can’t help but shiver every time his lips flutter over my skin.

I am startled by a light pinch on my sensitive right nipple. I did not notice his hand move there... It is not his fingers I am feeling. No, his wet tongue clues me in, when it begins to circle around it between his lips, pulling an unexpected moan from the back of my throat. I do feel his hand on my left breast, where he has begun gently twisting the nipple between his soft fingers. He darkly chuckles when another sigh of pleasure escapes my lips before abruptly letting go.

I whine, wanting more, but he won’t give it to me. Instead, he teasingly caresses my stomach, slowly moving towards... Nothing. His warm hand is gone from my skin as fast as it had come, and I wiggle in my restraints, unsatisfied.

“Be patient, my nightshade,” he sings, amused by my desperation. Desperation for him, that he created. He knows I am putty in his hands, and he likes it. I think I do, too. “Part thy legs.”

His order surprises me. I do as he says without question, eager for his touch. Finally, he slides a finger down the center of my folds, slowly, carefully, as if I was going to shatter from the tension. I think I might. His finger moves up, then down again, before finding my entrance. I open my legs apart even wider, granting him access, and he slowly pushes into me. My breaths are heavy with anticipation, interrupted by a needy whimper every time William moves his finger inside me. I want more.

He must be able to tell, for another finger joins the first in his painfully slow process. It does not last long, though. I hear the rustling of clothes and something metallic hit the floor. His belt. The mattress shifts under his weight. I can feel the warmth of his body hovering over mine in teasing proximity. His breath tickles my ear as he cruelly laughs yet again at the vulnerable state he has left me in. And his cock... Hard as a rock, it presses gently against my core before sliding into me.

I gasp and tense in pleasure around his girth. William’s hand returns to my breast, squeezing it lightly, and then moves to caress up my neck. He cups my cheek as he lets me adjust to the sudden fullness I feel. His thumb drags over my lips, parting them for another kiss. At the same time as he takes my mouth in his, he thrusts again. My resulting moan is muffled by the kiss.

The movement of his hips accelerates, steadily but slowly, until I am left a trembling mess under him. He maintains his rhythm, sending electric shocks all over my body.

“Thou art so beautiful, my nightshade,” he groans when I come undone. His pace slows, helping me ride out my orgasm. “Radiant as the Sun itself.”

He pulls out, and I am left breathing heavily in my uncomfortable position with my arms tied to the headboard. I hear some rustling before the knots around my wrists loosen. Once my hands are freed, William moves on to remove the blindfold. I blink a few times to help my eyes adjust to the light in the room, only to see William smirking down at me. He did not finish this time, too focused on pleasuring me instead. I stare at him, not knowing what to say.

“Mierda,” I blurt out, suddenly remembering something. I don’t know whether to attribute it to the post-coital clarity or my own unpredictable train of thought. “I forgot to feed Puck!”

I quickly wrap myself in a robe I find on a chair, still glistening with sweat, and run out the room.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire shakespeare #ikevamp shakespeare

[malethirsty]

Polar Saviour: Sandy

Summary: When you trip up at a rally, a different type of hero steps up to help you, one that has opposing views, but sometimes, opposites attract & make a blasting connection.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)

Attending an Anti Trump rally was something you’d never experienced before, but you were part of the generation that he and many like him was fucking over, so you had to do your part for a better world. So you threw on a ‘Why be racist, sexist, homophobic, when you could be quiet’ shirt, grabbed your homemade banner saying ‘Peach showers await Mr. Trump’ and made your way out to the streets.

As expected the place was packed as you marched down the streets of New York, chants alternating between ‘No Trump, No KKK, No Fascist USA’, ‘Lock Him Up’ and various other things like that. The reason you hadn’t gone to one of these before was because of the raucousness of the crowd & this was no exception, people were hustling and bustling about, and various people were being squashed around, including yourself. Not wanting to cut in front of people, you reluctantly stayed where you were as the crowd bustled forwards through the streets. Suddenly, you lost your footing and fell hard onto the pavement “Fuck!” You groaned, if you’ve ever fallen over, you’d know how rough and gut wrenching it is. “Shit man, are you ok?” Came a voice, you cautiously moved your head to see a man had departed from the crowd and had moved over to make sure you were alright “Yeah, leave me here for a bit and I’ll gather my strength” you said. The man laughed “I think people will think you’re dead if you stay stock still on the road.” “I guess so” you conceded “I’m gonna help you up alright?” He stooped down and pulled you up, “We’ll head to a cafe on the corner, I’ll check you out, make sure you haven’t hurt yourself.” You nodded, only half listening gazing at your savior, he had black skin, with darkly tinted brown eyes to match and a shaved frizzy hair style, he looked absolutely gorgeous, like a beautiful dream that had come to life.

You barely even noticed the change of place until he sat you down on a chair in an emptied out cafe and started to check you over. “I don’t think you’ve broken anything, there seems to be a bit of bruising though” You looked down and saw what he meant “It still stings but not as much as it did, thank you Mr.” you looked at the man hoping he would get the prompt “Sandy” he responded “Sandy, well I’m Y/N, thanks for helping me out.” “No problem Y/N.” The two of you placed orders and started small talk, you learnt he was steeped in political knowledge as he learnt about your journalism. “So I figured if I went, I’d have something to write about this week for my column.” “Yeah, ‘PROTESTERS: practice spacial awareness at events’ should be your headline” Sandy quipped back, leading you to laugh and grin, usually sarcastic comments would be retorted against, but something about his delivery worked so well.

“So why were you there? Something Trump tweeted about John Lewis? The ‘First Black President’ statement during Black History Month?” You asked, having had the ‘President’ blocked on Twitter for years on end “No, I’m actually a Republican.” Midway through your handful of chips, you choked. Sandy rushed over to hit you on the back, clearing your airways. “You keep running into trouble Y/N!” Sandy exclaimed “Yeah” you subtly said, if Sandy was a Republican, what was he doing at a Democratic event? You posed the question to him after he returned to his seat “Well whilst some of my views are Right Wing, like the right to own guns, I think my party and the world deserves better than Trump.” “Absolutely, but guns? When they contribute to massive deaths?” “So do knives but you don’t see people calling for a boycott.” Sandy responded “And it’s more complex than that, the amendment even if it could be changed, would take a while to pass by, rednecks could refuse to give their blessed weapons over, pandemonium potentially breaks out. I’m not saying anyone should be allowed to own a gun, but there are things people need to consider regarding our constitution.” As much as you wanted to stand very against his viewpoint, you knew he had points “I guess, cutting gun passage and starting proper screening processes could help minimize the amount of deaths in America, I get the whole defense thing, but it’s a shame that this country has turned into a place where Ultraviolence is an art form. Where sex is bad but violence is the new black.”

Sandy stared at you, taking it all in “I like how you debate your issues & how you didn’t storm off or make a big deal due to the side of politics I’m on.” “Well I probably would have tripped over my chair and hurt myself more.” You countered making him grin “And also when a big threat to our world is posed, people on opposing sides have to meet in the middle, or else the threat picks at our weaknesses and plays us against each other.” Sandy nodded “Very true. Geez, at least this went better than the last conversation I had about this.” “I hate to ask but what happened?” You grimaced slightly, worried about what it could have entailed “It was my ex girlfriend, Hannah her name was, she initially saw past my views and we had a decent relationship, and then it came back up because I didn’t like her essay and even when we broke up, she still wanted sex.” Your mouth dropped open, you felt bad for the poor guy, whilst being Right Wing wasn’t the best thing in the world, this Hannah sounded like a right piece of work “Shit Sandy, I’m sorry you had to go through that.” “And it always happens, people like her are like ‘Oh I’m in my 20s, I’m gonna move to New York, be a free spirit, date a black guy and go to a dangerous part of town.’” “It’s like they want to date black men because of the societal view of thugness or thrill that comes with it!” You exclaimed “You took the words right out of my mouth” Sandy quipped.

You soon finished your meal, and you reached for your wallet to pay “Nah Y/N, let me.” Sandy started “No Sandy, you’ve done enough for me today.” “Seriously, my treat.” He responded to you. You abandoned your attempt to get your wallet “Well I have to pay you back somehow.” “You don’t have to, unless you wanna go back to mine.” He subtly grinned your way, and you wondered was there a trace of a flirt in his grinned gaze? You decided to take the chance “Yes I will.” You said “Good. I thought you might.” Sandy responded. Having rested in the cafe for a while, you were able to stand on both feet and you followed Sandy past the crowds to his flat.

His flat seemed like any other that you’d come across, everything neatly arranged, his political books all stacked on a shelf & his bed tucked away in a corner. “Mind if I rest my leg up against the table so I can see how my bruise is doing?” Sandy nodded and having his ascent, you sat down and tentatively stretched your leg out, the black and blue colour now starting to stand out stronger than what it did “Oh that’s bloody great, people are gonna fucking notice that, it’s as clear as day.” “What if you stayed in with me?” Sandy offered “What would we do, streaming and cooking is great, but that can get tiring, no offense.” You quickly turned to see if Sandy was alright and found his face studying yours, much like how you did on the way up to the cafe “None taken, babe” and before you could react, he moved over & kissed you deep.

His lips felt so pleasant yet dominant, you moved further in, letting a moan fall out of your lips, making him laugh “And I haven’t even got your clothes off yet” “Well you better take it off then” you countered. Sandy proceeded to take off each garment “Fuck, you look real sexy when you’re naked man.” He exclaimed with a lustful tone in his voice. He lusciously stripped his shirt off for you, his sculpted pecs and four pack made you moan out in pleasure “Pants. Now” you got out as Sandy laughed and quickly disposed of his pants & underwear, his big cock flopping out. He moved your leg from table to lounge and moved his dick in front of your face “Suck my dick babe” he said softly & not wanting to waste another second, you lowered your head & began to suck. Sandy threw his head back breathing out an “Oh fuck!” you moved further down, tracing his veins. Louder groans filled the room as he grabbed your head and guided you “Oh fuck, you’ve got an amazing mouth, so fucking good!” He leant down and gave you a kiss “Fuck, I taste good on your mouth!” 

"Sandy I want you to fuck me.” you got out. Sandy not wanting to prolong you, made his way to the other end of the couch & began to shove his cock in your ass “Oh-Oh Fuck!” You moaned out, "You alright? If it hurts too much I’ll stop.” You nodded at Sandy and he stopped so you could steady your breathing “Keep going” you told him and he finally bottomed out balls deep. “Guess it’s true, black men have big cocks.” You said, causing Sandy to laugh “Babe, if you think our cocks are big, wait till you see how we fuck.” He started a passionate fast pace fuck into you, moans filling the apartment. You ran your hands down Sandy’s chest & tweaked his sensitive nipples, making him cry out in pleasure “Yeah Y/N, keep going!” You continued whilst running your hands down his four pack, getting to grips with his defined muscles while Sandy continues to fuck you.

“You wanted this” he moans out “Yeah I fucking did.” You responded, the adoring pretty gaze you had given him on the streets was gone, replaced by a look of lust. “And now you’re getting it, such a good fucking slut!” “Yeah, I’m your fucking slut Sandy!” You responded, the dirty talk flowing naturally “Yeah, good sluts like you get rewards.” Sandy gripped your cock & began to stroke it in time with his pace “Fucking come for me, shoot all over me baby boy!” It felt so sudden, like your load had been brimming up this entire time, but you hadn’t noticed because of how good Sandy was fucking you. “OH SANDY!” You screamed aloud as you shot your load all over him “Oh fuck!” Sandy laughed out “You blew a lot! I must be fucking you real good then.” “Y-yes you are.” You breathed out “Well then, I better keep going.” And he thrust in harder than before, drawing another lust toned scream from you, you didn’t know how he could have gotten faster than before, but he did, despite that, you knew that even the strongest man has limits.

And this was proved right after a while, as Sandy’s pace got sloppier “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” He groaned “Yeah Sandy! Give me your cum!” You moaned out, riding him hard, meeting him with every beat. “You want me deep in you?” He groaned out “Yeah fill me up please!” You yelled out. Sandy continued go rut inside you, gazing deep as he did so “Fuck babe, I'm cumming, God I'm cumming! Oh Fuck!" He finally cried out as you felt his cock pulse, load upon load squirting inside you." "Y/N babe, that was fantastic!” He kissed you, you returning with the same amount of passion. You rested up against him “Fuck, you’re amazing!” Sandy grinned “Nice to know Y/N.” He picked you up and led you to his bed “Now, we have two weeks and a bunch of positions to do & this time I’m gonna show you the blacked the berry, the sweeter the juice. And by berry, I mean my balls” You grinned up at him “Bring. It. On.”

#Sandy #Male Reader #Sandy/Male Reader #Sandy Smut #Girls #GirlsHBO #Girls Smut #GirlsHBO Smut

[artboitrash]

His Bloody Rose (Stefano Valentini fanfiction) Chapter 13 - The Gallery

-Stefano's P.O.V.-

I drove my car down the road, off to the college that was hosting my work. Rose sat next to me in the passenger seat, and a small smile crossed my face. The sun was beginning to set, so the golden soft light caused a halo to seemingly appear around her. We will both knock them out tonight. My art will entrance them, and the audience will become completely taken by my newest muse and myself.

A small impulsive flicker crossed my mind. With how close she had felt with me, a strange feeling began to make me want to draw closer to her as well. For now, she is my Calliope, but she is not someone I should let my guard down with.

And yet, I could feel that impulse, itching under my skin. I glanced over at her frozen form, not a simple task given she was to my right, hands placed on her knees and folded into fists. She was breathing deeply, and her eyelids fluttered as she blinked from time to time. I couldn't keep my gaze towards her for too long as I had to watch the road.

A part of me desired her, to have another night in bed with her. Our first night occurred very quickly, and since then I have had a small ache to try it again. However, I know better than to think that's the reason I'm keeping her around.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. "Glamorous!"

Rose jumped in her seat, turning to look at me.

"Excuse me, the word I was struggling with earlier was 'glamorous.' I just remembered it now."

A smile branched across her face, and she giggled, sitting back in her seat.

I felt my eye flicker back to her. It traced down her throat and over the folds of her dress, and back up to her styled hair and painted face. I bit my lip slightly, a small amount of anxiety beginning to set in, the same type I feel before going to the opening of all my galleries.

A flicker of wanting to touch her came over me again. While watching the road, I slid my hand off the steering wheel and over the center console. I reached into her lap and grabbed onto one of her hands. I felt her shift in her seat and turn towards me.

"Stefano--...?" She began. Then she silenced herself and sat back.

Her fingers threaded through mine, grasping onto my hand. I pulled it back over the console so my arm wasn't stretched too much. I didn't feel much of anything, mentally, the anxious feeling dampening. Strangely, feeling the warmth of her hand radiate through the leather of my gloves was rather comforting. I slid my thumb against her hand, trying to send a silent thank you message to her.

Something strange about this woman was that she makes me feel rather... happy. Perhaps it's because she is the first person to verbally praise my work, or because she did not try to run from me when she found out my techniques. A part of me wants to praise her, to keep her around me to continue hearing her worship my art.

But praise her for what? I haven't seen much from her, or learned much about her aside from what she's studying in school.

If I believed I could fall in love, I'd say she was a woman after my heart. She's studying the arts in college and has explained how she wants to go on to a formal arts college. She showed me some of her portfolios when she was comfortable enough over this past weekend.

She still needed a trained eye, but her starting photography portfolio wasn't the worst I had seen. She understood the basics, and especially knew enough to appreciate the work of traditional darkroom photography. Her face had turned red when I went through it and found the pile of rejects in the back of the folder.

She had a passion for the 2D arts. She had tried her hand at sculpture and ceramics, but explained she didn't believe she was gifted in that. Even I had to admit her attention to detail was inspiring. She had a love for surrealism, not unlike mine. She voiced her frustrations that she just wanted to make what she believed to be beautiful, and that all everyone asks is just about the message her work is about.

When she told me that, in the moment I was sure I had never mentally understood anyone before then. Before I knew it, I grabbed her by her shoulders and kissed her, giving into an impulse I never expected I'd want from her. I didn't realize I hadn't kissed her first because I wanted to until after I pulled away. In the moment, it felt like I had found someone that truly understood. She wasn't like me, but she understood what it was like to be rejected simply for a vision of beauty, and the portrayal rather than the message being missed entirely.

"What do you want me to refer to you as?" Rose spoke up, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"Like... It's the first time we'll be out in public as, well, a couple... So I was wondering if you want me to call you my boyfriend, my significant other, something like that?"

I pulled down a side road, passing the sign declaring we were entering the college campus. I thought to myself for a moment, keeping my mind on the road in front of us, seeing the lights of the arts building still illuminated.

"Hmm..." I mused, coaxing the idea from my head. "I hadn't given that enough thought. I suppose, for now, you can refer to me as your boyfriend."

She nodded slightly, releasing my hand as we pulled into a parking spot. The car shut off, silent, and a light flicked on above us as I opened my door. I let myself out of the car, quickly walking around to help her out of her seat.

I opened her door and offered her my hand. She slung a small handbag I had loaned her over her shoulder, taking my hand and lifted herself out of the seat. She looked properly elegant, as though going to an evening party. She was only missing a small champagne glass and the low lighting.

She leaned into me, holding onto my hand as we began walking towards the arts building. "You know, it is usually a lot more casual than this." she tried explaining for the eighth time.

"So you've said, but I never take chances with my galleries. I always present myself in a more-than-casual manner."

She leaned her head against my shoulder briefly. The heels I had chosen for her made her the same height as me, making her crane her head to complete the gesture.

"I almost wish you did not work in the gallery, so you could be surprised by the work being presented." I feigned a sigh. "But I suppose if you did not, we would have never met."

She laughed quietly. "I know. I'm sure it'll look lovely once we go inside. I wasn't able to really look at them when installing it. I'm sure I can take in all of the pictures in detail when we get in there, since I've only studied them as proofs."

I allowed a small smile to cross my face again. The word "only" hung in my head, she only saw the proofs, and sounded excited to see them in a larger format. This was something different than what I had been receiving. I was excited to finally be receiving the recognition I deserve.

I squeezed her hand. "If you must know, I am ecstatic to see what you think of your own image, and what others think of your beauty along side your photo."

We enter the building as the sky was turning a vibrant orange and red hue. I guided her into the hallway with a small hand placed on her back. We started walking to the gallery, seeing a small amount of people already in the room. There was a buffet table right outside the door, lined mostly with pizza boxes and potato chips. I internally groaned, but kept a stoic smile on my face as we walked down the hallway.

Carolinn walked out of the gallery as we neared the door. "Oh, you're here!" she said with a relieved smile. I watched her glance to Rose and a flicker of confusion cross her face. I saw her mouth shift as though to say something else, but she didn't speak again.

"I hope we are not too late." I said with my usual polite tone.

"Oh, no, of course not!" She said, moving to the side to let us in. "You're just in time! We opened the doors less than thirty minutes ago."

I chuckled quietly. "Thank you for having me. I'm quite ecstatic to be shown here."

Carolinn moved out of our way and continued on her way passed us. Rose walked forward into the gallery, now transformed with only the studios lights illuminating my work. I followed her in as she turned and and began to focus on the framed work hanging from the ceiling. I bit back a stronger smile as I watched her face make an impressed expression. It was several smaller, gray scale images of dead bodies, the frames hanging from the ceiling attached to each other.

Rose glanced back at me with a smile and continued on to the next piece. It was my creation "Innocent Gift" in a larger frame than what she had seen. She looked at each picture carefully as though she had never seen them before. She kept her hands together, crossed over her lap respectfully.

We finally got to the back of the room, where the pieces were intentionally funneling the audience. This piece was directly across the room and perfectly visible from the attendant's desk. Rose was still focusing on my photo "Bouquet" as she turned to the piece in the back of the room.

As we were the only people facing this piece I let my mask slip as I watched her face. She stopped and stared, her face immediately shifted and her impressed gaze shifted. Her eyes widened slightly, and I could only imagine what her heartbeat would feel like against me as her face flushed as it did only when it began to pound roughly.

Rose turned to me with her face fixed with a surprised expression. I stared at her, watching her face shift, showing she wanted to say something.

I smiled, shifting closer as she turned back to the largest framed photo in the gallery. My gift to her that I was sure would be put up when she wasn't around. It was her image; my best work yet - despite missing the death every other piece held. I had added the clock this time, and worked hard over the week to perfect this image and show her as I had seen it that night.

"'Midnight Dance...'" I said lowly, quoting the plaque beneath it. "A new model approached me a few weeks ago and asked to be portrayed in my newest series. I think I did wonderfully in capturing her essence and beauty."

"I... I didn't know this was going to be shown tonight." She murmured, turning to me. Her face was flushed and I could tell she was almost completely embarrassed.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned away from Rose to face whomever was trying to get my attention. It was Carolinn again.

"Sorry to interrupt you two, but I wanted to ask when you wanted to speak." She said hurriedly.

I politely smiled. "I'm free for the evening, so I'm able to speak when you feel it's time."

She glanced around briefly, judging the amount of people that were there. "Maybe about in hour, to an hour and a half?"

I nodded to her. "That works. Find me when you think it's time for me to speak to the attendants."

"Thank you." She turned on her heel and hurried off through the gallery doors again.

My eye flickered across the nearly empty room as someone walked in. The man was in casual clothes and had ruffled short blonde hair. I twitched my left hand slightly towards Rose as I recognized him. I turned away and focused on Rose's image, the subject herself still looking at it. Because of my head movement she turned her head and smiled at me. I glanced towards her and kept my smile on my face.

"I didn't expect to see you tonight." A woman's voice floated towards me.

I glanced to my left as a smartly dressed woman approached us, wearing a tan dress suit. I recognized her and instantly felt anger boil in my stomach.

"Ah, nor did I expect to see you, Miss." I said in an even tone. "But I attend every gallery opening I am in, as I see it as polite to be present to answer any questions."

Susan Phi laughed dryly. "I've only attended one of your galleries, so I thought attending another might give me insight to your... 'vision...'"

She glanced around and feigned disgust. I could already tell she was intentionally trying to get a rise out of me, so she could continue her slander against me. Instead I moved closer to Rose, pretending I was shifting my weight, partially to anchor myself to reality and not allow myself to be enraged.

"Grand. I'm always eager to educate those that don't understand my work."

She smiled with a crooked, thin line pronouncing some lines on her face. "I'm afraid I have seen enough already. You seem to have some issues learning how to cater to the art world."

"Miss Phi, I'm afraid I have no interest in catering or pandering to people who do not enjoy my work."

"Well, you should." She sneered at me as she seemed to become a little upset that I wasn't giving her what she wanted. "If you want to receive any recognition, maybe you should think about taking constructive criticism seriously."

"Maybe you should turn off the recorder in your pocket." Rose spoke up.

I glanced at Rose as she stared pointedly at the reporter.

"Sorry, I thought this was a two-person conversation." Susan said in response. "Excuse us we were bothering you from viewing this... Art."

"It's not a conversation, ma'am. If you want to record someone I think you need permission first. You're treating it like an interrogation so you can get something to gossip about Mr. Valentini. You should learn the definition of art before confronting someone."

Susan initially tried to spout a witty response, but her mouth opened and the air caught in her throat. Her eyebrows raised up, surprised.

"Both the bottom of your phone poking out of your pocket and the mic on your jacket aren't very well hidden." Rose continued. "Going around to art galleries in hopes of catching the artist to stir up drama in the art world isn't a good idea for progression or even as a good business. Just because it puts money in your pocket doesn't mean you won't make enemies or make people angry with you."

Susan Phi stared at her. Finally her face turned frustrated, and she reached into the jacket of her ensemble. She yanked at something attached to a black wire and pulled it out with a rough snap. She threw it down at her feet, and rushed passed us. I turned and watched as she began to walk out of the building.

"Mark my words, your photos will never be accepted in the art world, especially after this!" she said, turning and shouting at us.

"And good riddance..." mumbled Rose.

She turned to me and saw me staring at her. My public mask must have faltered because she covered her mouth with her fingers.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" she muttered. "I didn't mean to jump in on your conversation with her. She shouldn't treat you like that; I read her article on you a few weeks ago, and I couldn't help but feel she only did it to--."

She gasped slightly as my left hand grasped her right wrist. I didn't realize at first that it was so tight around her, and I loosened my grip. I leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

"Follow me upstairs."

I released her arm and left her stunned. I walked out of the gallery and down the hall as I listened for her heels to begin walking after me.

#Stefano Valentini #the evil within 2 #the evil within stefano #stefano #stefano valentini fanfiction #tew #tew2 #tew2 stefano #His Bloody Rose #Chapter 13 #The Gallery

[axiumin]

Absolution | Chapter Two

Back at it again with part two! This time, there’s more interaction with Youngjae and the beginnings of that burn. 

Pairing: Youngjae x Reader

Genre: Drama, College!AU

Words: 2.5k

Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4]

You had writer’s block, which was just about the worst thing that could happen to you when you had less than twenty-four hours before your faculty advisor expected to see a completed draft of your term paper. You tried your damnedest to get anything decent written, but every time you’d finish penning a line, the words seemed to glare back at you, jarring and insufficient.

Not for the first time, you cursed yourself for choosing creative writing. In hindsight, you couldn’t fathom how you thought a program that forced you to write creatively on a deadline would be even the slightest bit good for your mental and emotional health, but here you were.

Suffering.

And veering quickly for the melodramatic. Obviously, sitting around and agonizing in your cramped apartment wasn’t going to do you any good. Maybe a change of scenery would help kickstart your creativity, you mused. Or, if it didn’t, at least you could continue to suffer in the relative comfort of one of the library’s study rooms.

You stood and stretched your arms over your head, groaning when you felt your back give a satisfying crack. It didn’t take long for you to gather your things together and make your way to the library.

It was early evening, and with a few weeks still left in the semester, there weren’t any students rushing around in the panic of midterms or finals. The campus was still and silent, and the library was no different. Only one student lingered in the lobby, and they were utterly oblivious to you, their face buried in a sociology textbook and their headphones blasting music that you could faintly hear halfway across the room. The only other person around was Youngjae, working the front desk, and you felt your shoulders sag in relief at the sight of his familiar face.

And by the way he broke into a bright grin when he caught sight of you, you figured the feeling was mutual.

“What brings you here at this hour?” he asked when you made your way to the desk. His voice was quiet out of habit; you both knew you could speak louder without disturbing the only other library denizen, but you were perfectly content keeping your voice soft, too.

“Writer’s block,” you said simply. Youngjae’s face twisted into a look of sympathy.

The campus library had attracted all sorts of student employees, you’d found. Erika was a third-year psychology and social behavior major, and you were halfway convinced that she was the person who kickstarted the trend of perfectly color-coordinated and organized notes. She was brilliant and tenacious and orderly almost to a fault. If anyone could take over the world, it would be her.

Jiseob was an art history major. He was remarkably down to earth, and he often joked that he would likely work in a diner once he finished his degree. But you knew that he was hip-deep in faculty-led research projects. For all that he wrinkled his nose when he talked about grad school, you could think of no one else who could handle academia with such aplomb.

Akram was perhaps the chattiest computer science major you’d ever met. He was the only STEM major among your little pack of coworkers, but he took it in stride, easily keeping pace with conversations about everything from Romantic-era art to slam poetry. Jiseob liked to joke that Akram was a real Renaissance man, and Akram didn’t even try to hide the way he preened under the compliment.

Youngjae was the only one who was also in your creative writing program. He was a year ahead of you and could empathize with your struggles more than anyone else you knew, which you supposed was part of the reason you were so relieved to see him. If you trusted anyone’s advice at this junction, it would be his.

“What are you working on?” he asked, leaning his elbows against the counter.

You sighed and fished out your laptop, opening it up right there to show him.

“For my term paper, I wanted to write a fictional narrative that brings in elements of confessional poetry. I wanted to wrestle with ideas of life and death from the perspective of a widowed woman in her 50s, but I’m having a hard time making things feel authentic. I guess that’s what happens when you try to write about life experiences that aren’t your own,” you said, shrugging.

Youngjae’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “That’s pretty ambitious,” he said, but it sounded more like affirmation than admonishment. “But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

The doubt must have shown on your face because he was quick to press on. “I mean, sure, you’re trying to write a confessional style from a perspective that you haven’t really experienced, but the key is that you’re writing about a human experience. Everyone wrestles with mortality in some way or another, right? You just have to try to find a way to convey your own feelings through the voice of a fictional character.”

“You make it sound so easy,” you said, a bit drily.

Youngjae rewarded you with a fleeting half-smile that made him go from sweet to rakish for just a moment before he returned to his usual neutrally sincere expression.

“It is,” he insisted. “Or, at least it can be if you know how to do it right. I can find some references for you, if you’d like.”

Now more than ever were you grateful you’d made the journey to the library. “Please.”

Youngjae busied himself with the computer for a moment, typing in some author name or other, and it took just a moment for him to turn back to you.

“Ah, we have some Sylvia Plath checked back in right now. Why don’t we check her out?”

You shrugged. “I’m game. What section is she in?”

“I’ll just show you,” Youngjae said, already moving out from behind the counter before you could respond.

“You realize I work here, too, right?” you noted as Youngjae began leading you into the shelves. “Like, I know where the sections are and I don’t even need directions or anything.”

Youngjae didn’t even look back at you, just shrugged. “I know. But it’s boring in here, and now I finally get to do something.”

Well, you couldn’t begrudge him that, you supposed. Besides, it wasn’t like he was bad company in the slightest, even if you had to trot a bit to keep up with his quick strides.

It took no time at all for Youngjae to pluck a book from one of the shelves and hand it to you. It was a slim anthology of poetry by Sylvia Plath, and you began flipping through the pages idly as Youngjae spoke.

“Confessional poetry became kind of popular among American authors around the 1950s and ‘60s. Plath was just one of several who became well-known for this style. She’s not exactly a 50-something-year-old widow, but she definitely had her own dealings with life and mortality. I thought maybe you could draw some inspiration from her.”

You dragged your fingertips across the paper, tracing the letters. “You know a lot about this, even for a librarian,” you said quietly, not tearing your eyes from the page. In the corner of your eye, you saw him shrug.

“Everyone has their stylistic preference. This one happens to be mine.”

You looked up at him in clear surprise, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“I know, that one always tends to surprise people.”

You shook your head. “No- I mean, yeah, but.” You stopped and licked your lips, trying again. “I just don’t think we’ve ever talked about our inspiration and preferences before. Somehow.”

As a matter of fact, it occurred to you that you didn’t know much about Youngjae at all beyond your friendly conversations at work. You knew him well enough to consider him a friend, but you didn’t know much about him.

As if reading your mind, Youngjae said, “I tend not to talk too much about myself, to be honest. It’s a bit ironic, considering that I’m fascinated with the idea of people laying their emotions bare. There’s just something about the vulnerability of putting yourself in words like this, you know?” His gaze fell to the slightly yellowed pages of the book. “And not only are you putting yourself out there, but it’s permanent. The written word can outlast lives by centuries. It’s powerful.”

His eyes flashed back up to yours and it was your turn to look down at the book.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” you admitted. Sure, you were interested enough in confessionals, or else you wouldn’t have chosen that stylistic approach. But for you, it was more about venturing into unfamiliar territory. You were more focused on stretching yourself as a writer rather than the implications of that style.

“Not a lot of people do,” Youngjae said with an easy shrug. “I probably think about it too much. I just think I’m hoping that I can learn how to be more honest, myself.”

You felt your eyebrows creep up your forehead. In the months that you’d worked with Youngjae, you’d never seen him as anything less than kind, open, and sensitive.

“Aren’t you honest now?”

That wry smile came back, and Youngjae shook his head. “Not as much as I should be. Now more so than ever, I guess.”

You let that statement hang in the air as you mulled it over. It was surprising to hear him say that, but you supposed it was actually perfectly relatable.

The heavy silence was broken when Youngjae huffed a quiet laugh.

“This is all pretty topical, isn’t it?” he said, eyes crinkling. “I mean, with the whole Ars thing, it seems like confession is the hot topic this semester.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I guess so,” you said. “Though I don’t know how many of those confessions are quite as deep as this,” you said, snapping the book shut for emphasis.

Youngjae just shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s just human nature, isn’t it? Everyone has different needs, different concerns. Some people may make a joke of it and post about how hot their TA is, and others may share trauma they’ve carried with them for years. Either way, don’t you think it’s important for people to be able to share parts of themselves like that? It’s hard to live with secrets all the time.”

You hummed in thought. “What about Ars?”

Youngjae blinked in surprise. “What about Ars?” he echoed.

“Well, people are releasing a part of themselves when they submit the confessions, right? But then Ars is taking those confessions in, and all Ars does is post them around campus. Is that release for them? Or are they left living with other people’s secrets on top of their own?”

Youngjae frowned. “Maybe they’re into that sort of thing. It’s not anonymous to them, right? Maybe they’re just looking for leverage over people. Maybe they’ll just turn things around on those confessors.”

You were taken aback. You hadn’t expected Youngjae to suddenly speak so negatively of Ars after all that talk of confession, and frankly, it wasn’t like Youngjae to play devil’s advocate.

A frown tugged at your lips and you shook your head thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s the case at all,” you said. Youngjae seemed a bit surprised at your conviction. If you were honest, you were surprised, too.

For the second time that evening, silence hung between you, this one heavier than the last. You couldn’t quite describe the look on Youngjae’s face as he gazed at you.

Just as his lips parted to speak, you heard a muted thump and a “Hello?”

Both of you turned to see the sociology kid from earlier staring back at you from the front desk. The textbook was sitting on the counter, and he had a chagrined look on his face as he glanced back and forth between you and Youngjae.

“I’m finished with this book,” he called hesitantly.

Just like that, all tension was dispelled, leaving you with a gusty sigh.

“I should, uh, take care of that,” Youngjae murmured. You nodded fervently.

“Yeah. Yeah, go do that. I’ll just,” you held up the book, “go work for a bit.”

After some awkward shuffling, you managed to make your way to a study desk tucked away in the corner of the room. You sat down heavily, your head buzzing with thoughts of your conversation.

You mused about confessionals, the act of confession, and what that meant for you— and for your paper, too. Your fingers drummed against the table as you deliberated, but it wasn’t a difficult decision, and you were soon unlocking your phone and opening instagram.

What better way to get in the mood for writing a confessional than to start by confessing?

In no time at all, you opened a new message to Ars and typed out your confession, releasing another heavy sigh when you pressed send. You spared a moment for you to sit back and scrub a hand over your face, and then you were shaking off your thoughts and opening your laptop to get to work.

You immersed yourself in your writing, and when you finally sat back, the hour was late and the campus beyond the library window was pitch black. Your muscles were stiff and tired when you rose from your seat and neatly packed away your belongings.

You took a quick detour to return the Plath anthology to its rightful home before making your way back towards the front desk. You had to stifle a pang of disappointment when you realized that Youngjae was gone, replaced by a sleepy-eyed Jiseob. He waved lazily at you, and you returned it before pulling your jacket tighter around you and heading out into the night, your shoulders weighed down by your heavy thoughts.

When you awoke the next morning, you were relieved to find that the strange musing mood had eased. Your mind was surprisingly clear as you went through the motions of your morning routine, as you gave your term paper a final proofread, as you printed it out and placed it delicately in a portfolio folder. Nerves simmered low in your stomach, making it flutter unpleasantly, but it was easy to ignore as you walked across campus towards your faculty advisor’s office.

What wasn’t as easy to ignore were the stark white letters sitting at eye level on a pillar right outside of the humanities building’s side entrance.

“I don’t think I know how to stop being critical of myself and my work.”

The stenciled lettering was pristine, protected from the seasonal rains by its position under the building’s awning. You stood there for some time, just staring at your confession, shocked that it would manifest so shortly after you’d sent it in. Yet your shock was mostly quelled by a wave of relief. In the light of day, the swell of frustration and helplessness that had compelled you to pen these words seemed somehow manageable. 

You felt something that felt a lot like determination settle inside of you. You gripped the cardstock of your portfolio tighter and turned on your heel, ready to stand by your completed work.

#got7 #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 one shots #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop one shots #youngjae #choi youngjae #youngjae imagine #youngjae scenario

[thirteenthspirit]

Lance Summers

That is the name I gave him. It seemed to fit his style and provide an amusing connection to the Summers from Marvel comics, who I was always fond of (Cyclops, Havoc…). I don’t remember where I got “Lance” from, though…

Lance was everything. Everything I wanted/needed him to be. He was the materialization of my need to escape, mixed with my need for an emotional connection (aka relationship) and the fantasy of predestined true love. He has been with me for years, he is my safe place, even if unreal. And the stories I come up with of our time together provide me with more feeling than most mundane events I go through.

Lance is approximately my height (180cm), sometimes a bit shorter, sometimes a bit taller and hails from a Nordic country – I’d wager Denmark, given that his real name is Niels. His skin is pale and his hair is of a light brown / dirty blond hue, short but scruffy. His eyes are clear grey, which reflects light at different tones during the day. He is of average build and has that kind of facial hair that even when you shave, there is still a permanent shade of grey to your face. So he tends to leave his brown/blond beard at a very attractive 2, 3-day length. He is particularly finnicky about his sideburns though. I never really let him how much I enjoy them. “Shaggydog”, I call him endearingly, because he just has that look of ‘confused scruff’. His skin isn’t clear, he has some freckles and marks – the same as any ‘average’ human.

The first thing people notice about Lance isn’t his strikingly good looks, though – it’s the scar. He has a scar on the right side of his face, which crosses his lips. It is about 2-3cm tall and goes from slightly below his right nostril to a bit above his chin. His facial hair avoids the slight crevice. Of course it isn’t an issue – I’ve kissed that scar a billion times and it is a part of that huge smile I adore. But there is a story behind it, and for Lance it’s a reminder of tougher times, a trigger he has to face everyday.

I had been an operative for the Tas for a few months now and was usually out on assignment. Aside from the couple of weeks I taught at the College, I never really spent much time at headquarters, so I wasn’t around that often. It took quite a while for mine and Lance’s paths to cross. One time I was summoned to the briefing hall, with a new assignment – a team had been sent to provide backup for some missing scouts, further to the North. Enemy sightings had been previously reported in the region, so it was definitely an area of interest. But contact with the support unit had been abruptly cut.

Since I was familiar with the area, I was tasked with tracing the missing elements of the squad, as covertly as possible. I did not know any more, nor was I stupid enough as to ask – they still did not trust me enough to disclose more than the sheer necessary and I wasn’t about to incur their wrath by engaging in an argument. Stealth and brains have always been my preferred weapons, so I can put up a convincing front with ease.

I swung by my room to grab my jacket, strapped my twin swords to my belt and put on my gloves*, before heading out through the northern gate. My horizon saw nothing but deep woods stretching wide, which culminated in rising mountains, with snow-covered peaks.

After about half a day of breeze-running through the forest, which used to get deeper and darker as far in as one went, I reached the area where contact had last been established with the missing team. It was about noon and the sun filtered through the tangled branches of the tall trees. I immediately realized why the squad had chosen this place to make camp – there was a rock wall leading upwards to a cliff on one side of a tall mound of grass where the trees parted. It was the sight of a beautiful and naturally-occurring clearing. But there was nothing beautiful about this. Only a slight breeze caused the branches to flick, there was a lack of sound – no animal chirps, drops of water, nothing but leaves rustling in the wind.

The wind. That was the evidence no one could erase. I immediately sensed an ominous memory in this breeze. I closed my eyes, let my hair flutter through the breeze, let it enter every open sleeve and pocket of my outfit, felt it rushing on my skin, whispering to me in shivers. I raised my right hand to my chest and started to see something forming in the dark – but before I could focus there was a bright-red light flying incredibly fast at me, right behind me. I barely had time to shift my weight to my left leg as I opened my eyes, to see the knife whoosh past me, just barely missing me.

I instantly drew my sword, pivoting to parry my attacker’s incoming blow. It was a woman, with an outfit I immediately recognized as an assassin’s garb. She was wielding a pair of twisted-pointer knives, and our strength matched each other’s quite well. After I deflected the blow with one hand, she immediately slashed with the other knife in one swift motion – forcing me to leap backwards, onto a safe distance. I wasn’t planning on losing an eye today.

Her hair was black and her eyes were coated in heavy dark eyeliner.

-“If camouflage is what you were going for, I’m afraid you’re just not quite dressed for the occasion, honey.” I threw at her.

Her eyes flicked to my right and I instantly knew she was not alone – there was another one, standing behind me.

If I was to survive, I couldn’t afford to hesitate.

As they both lunged at me, I wind-stepped towards the young woman – speed would be the only way I could avoid her knives and get the upper hand – and with sword in hand, I did a 180º to my left, effectively slashing her across her back. Blood flew in the direction of my sword, it was too sharp not to have been a fatal blow.

When I completed my turn, I was now facing the other attacker – but this one was already practically on top of me (how could he be this fast?! - I thought). I raised my free left hand, closed my eyes and sank.

It was always a tightening of the heart when I used Darkness, but I did not have another choice.

When I opened my eyes, left arm still reaching with an open palm, the man was lying in the ground, face up, several meters from where I was standing, with a gaping hole in his chest.

I retreated from the area. Turns out it was their rotten scent I was picking up in the wind - assassins. This close to the border. They must’ve crossed the deepwood marshes. But if they’re here… that would mean the squad members were dead.

Or worse.

I reached a lake nearby, in a particularly somber part of the forest I knew like the back of my hand. The trees huddled together in such a manner that they appeared to form a formidable wall around the place, and the canopy was so full that it was always nighttime. This allowed the proliferation of these tiny ferns which effectively glowed, projecting their starlight reflection onto the pool of water. It had been my secret hideout for quite some time.

I sat down on a rock near the edge of the lake and began cleaning my sword. Turns out in my instinct I had reached for my white sword (as opposed to the black one), so the blood really stood out. After I was done, I lay it across my lap.

And I closed my eyes once again, as I had before I was so crudely interrupted before. I heard the water ripple, the little fish fluttering across the surface, insects leaping from leaf to leaf, bubbles drifting upwards ever so slowly, coming from the bottom of the lake, where crustaceans dragged their houses of rock through the sand and the water was blue. Dark blue. Ever darker. Pitch black. Then a light appeared. It was faint, but it was there. It was red and pulsating. Slowly, slowly, but rhythmically. A shape formed around it, a human shape. Then another was beside it, and another.

3 people. Alive. It must be the squad members. I reached out from their shapes and made out their surroundings, it was a tight space with no air running through it – but close enough for me to feel. A cave. I stepped back and saw the entrance… there was a large round rock covering the entrance, where water droplets ran through. I felt the droplets, they were cold. They must come stem from the river’s source. I traced them back to a little creek which slightly deviated from the rushing water of the river, running along a cliff. Got it.

I rose to my feet, opened my eyes and immediately started towards the location where I *felt* the water coming from. This is what I did, water and wind are my elements and they speak to me when I reach out. I learned to master the art of sensing a long time ago (how long?).

I reached the place after about an hour of trekking through the jungle – trees were sparser in this area of the woods, giving it a more tropical feel. Pushing aside a couple of leaves, I was able to make out the entrance of the cave.

I didn’t feel anyone else around, just the same 3 shapes huddled in the dark. So I headed towards the cave.

With our combined efforts, we were able to move the rock – turns out I had not found the missing squad I had been looking for, but the scouts which began this whole process. They had been ambushed by a troupe of assassins and after fighting them off, the 3 that survived took shelter in this cave. The assassins that had come after me must have been stragglers left behind, searching for their missing prey. I helped them with their injury – a girl had an exposed fracture to her leg and the other two were severely dehydrated and with minor flesh wounds. I would have to take them back to headquarters and make sure there were no more assassins along the way.

Our journey back was smooth – we moved slowly but with caution, I sensed the area before we moved out after every break we took. And so we eventually made it back.

I was relieved to find the missing scouts, but in all practical terms, my mission had been a failure – I had been tasked with finding the missing squad members who had been dispatched to find the scouts (ironically). I dropped the scouts off with some guards at the entrance and went up to the council hall to report my findings.

I passed through the large iron doors to find quite a big commotion – I asked a random over looker what was going on, who told me:

“Haven’t you heard? The squad they had sent up North liberated over fifty people from an enemy facility, close to Looker’s Bay. It seems they even killed a Head! I heard the bastards were keeping them prisoner and torturing them in sick experiments.”

The Squad. Looker’s Bay. A Head. Experiments.

“Kefka.” – I exhaled to myself.

Anyway, the commotion was too large and this too big of a celebration for the Council to give a crap about my mission right now. Also Looker’s Bay was in the opposite direction of the one I had been sent, looking for the squad members which now rejoiced amid this crowd. So I’d wager I was effectively the target of a very well-thought out misdirect.

I decided to head over to the treatment center to check on the scouts I had brought it – with that many people rescued, it would probably be overflowing with patients and not enough doctors. I’m not a doctor, but I can perform basic first-aid and rejuvenation spells, as all healing magic stems from water-based hands.

I reached the hospital and started helping out, here and there. Eventually I found my scouts who were now smiling with their close friends and loved ones. The sight warmed my heard a bit – “must’ve been just gas”, I thought.

Hours later, the rush had disappeared and things were calming down. People were starting to settle in for the night. As I was finishing treating an elderly woman, I stood up and was walking to get a glass of water, when I turned a corner and BAM. Ran, face first, into something which had been running in the opposite direction.

We were both projected, ending up on top of each other, heart racing and with a crowd of onlookers staring. When I recovered and my mind stopped racing, I sat up and looked into the face of a confused young man with ruffled hair, grey eyes, blond stubble and a scar on his lips.

                                                                                                    To be Continued

                                                                                                                 -João A.

#Romance #Personal #Fiction #Fantasy #LGBT #Gay #Romantic #Happy Place #short story #Chapters #Magic #War #Conflict #Adventure #Lance Summers

[creative-type]

The Murder of Arthur Wright V

First Last AO3 AN: Sorry for the delay. Writers block and lots of overtime at work meant little productivity. For those who care for such things, Anansi is named after the mythological trickster character popular in West African folklore.

Chapter Five: Anansi of a Thousand Faces

The sun was beginning to set as Margot set a brisk pace for the waterfront. Two days had passed since she had last met with Cain, and she was starting to get antsy. It turned out finding someone who could change their appearance at will was more difficult than it sounded. It was unfortunate that in the wake of Master Wright’s death that the mage’s conference had been cancelled—at least then Margot would have some idea of where to start looking. As it was she wasn’t sure Anansi was still in the city.

She stopped in front a small playhouse at the edge of the entertainment district. As far as leads went it wasn’t much, yet it was the best she had. None of her contacts at the Academy knew where Anansi was or where they would be traveling next. There had been no ads of upcoming plays in the paper. The rumor mill surrounding the mysterious actor had gone strangely silent.

Margot had almost given up hope when the professor of illusion made mention of a colleague who knew of a man who had seen a superlative performance given by an unknown actor working out of a little hole in the wall. Supposedly magic had been involved.

It seemed like an absurd story, but Margot was loath to go back to Cain emptyhanded. She was acutely aware that she had wandered to the rougher side of town. The looks she got here were of an entirely different sort than she was used to. The people here could sniff out a stranger faster than a bloodhound and were naturally suspicious of people they didn’t know.

Margot was more worried about keeping a low profile than her personal safety. There was no way of knowing if Anansi was actually inside, but if they were Margot didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

The bill outside of the theater advertised a man named Yotarou. Usually shows advertised any magic that would be a part of the performance, but there was no mention of any illusions. Even so, there was a surprisingly large crowd for a weeknight show. Margot paid the fee and squeezed into the rapidly filling playhouse, which was little more than a glorified bar with a stage at the back of the room. The air was dark and smoky and buzzing with a dozen different conversations. Margot settled near the back as she waited for the show to begin, settling in an empty stool at the end of the bar.

A minute or two passed when Margot noticed a man mustering the courage to approach her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him down his drink in a single gulp, slamming the glass down as he rose to his feet. One of his friends clapped him soundly on the back and gave him a friendly push Margot’s way.

She didn’t have time for this. Margot called on her magic with a twitch of her fingers. There was plenty of water in the air this close to the river, more than enough for her to work with. Margot’s palm warmed pleasantly as coaxed the heat from the microscopic all around her into her hand, taking just enough to send a chill through the air.

At the same time Margot fixed the would-be suitor with an icy glare, making sure he got a good look at her scars. The man stopped dead in his tracks. To his credit he got the message without any further trouble, turning abruptly to walk red-faced to the direction of the restrooms.

“That was nicely done.”

Margot turned to the bartender just as Yotarou took the stage. He kneeled on a pillow at the center of the stage armed with only a paper fan and began a long-winded tale about two parents who decide to give their newborn son twelve first names after being unable to decide on just one.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Margot said.

“Not many have that much control over their magic,” the bartender murmured. “May I get you something to drink?”’

“Not tonight,” Margot said. “I’m just here for the show.”

“Ah, a fan of the fallen words?” he asked. “I don’t blame you. It’s a rare art, not often seen this far west. Do you have a favorite master?”

The question meant nothing to Margot, and she shook her head. “I’m just learning.”

“It’s a wise man who admits their ignorance,” the bartender said. “Or woman, I suppose. Now listen, the best part is coming up.”

Yotarou’s voice rose to a fever-pitch as he reached the climax of his story. The boy with the long name was knocked unconscious after getting into a fight with a friend. The friend rushed off for help, but was forced to use the boy’s full name with everyone he came across, and by the time he came back the boy had completely recovered from the injury.

The story wasn’t suited to Margot’s sense of humor, but Yotarou’s exaggerated caricature elicited a quiet chuckle as the crowd burst into applause. Yotarou bowed to his audience, paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and launched eagerly into his next tale.

“Amateur,” the bartender said, wrinkling their nose in distaste. 

“You didn’t find it funny?” Margot asked.

“Three times he botched the name, and he should have made a greater distinction between the boy and his friend. Each character should be unique.”

Margot turned to face the bartender, but the space he had been occupying was empty, with a single drink sitting on the bar the only indication he had ever been there in the first place. She tried to find where he had gone, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air.

“On the house, darling,” a voice whispered in Margot’s ear. “Enjoy the rest of the show, I’ve seen all I need.”

Magic. Margot searched for its source, but her trace was overwhelmed by the spells used to light the stage and the charms warding against fire and theft. Utterly dumbfounded Margot looked down at the drink he had left her. It was one of those elaborate mixed drinks that Lyra could down by the gallon. She hadn’t even seen him mix it.

Unless…

Once again Margot called upon her magic. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the audience burst into laughter, but she no longer was paying any attention to Yotarou’s stories. She touched the glass with a finger that glowed with soft aquamarine light, stifling a gasp as it passed right through.

It was an illusion, one of the most sophisticated she had ever seen. Carefully she dismissed the spell and touched it again, this time her fingers feeling the contour of the glass, the liquid inside rippling with the sudden movement.

Illusionary magic was difficult because the spells either had to be meticulously planned and continuously maintained by the caster. The more senses that were engaged with by the illusion the more difficult it was to cast and the more energy it required to maintain. Margot picked up the glass and swirled the contents, noting that the drink was for all intents and purposes indistinguishable from reality.

The spell was still active, and an active spell could always be traced back to its caster. Margot murmured the words to a trace under her breath, tracing a sigil over the glass. A golden thread formed around the glass and led to the entrance of the playhouse.

Margot pushed through the crowed and followed the thread outside and down the street. It led her two blocks north, the golden light growing in intensity as she neared the source of the spell. Margot paused when she reached a small diner and scanned the crowd for the bartender. The thread pulsed gently in her hands and then, suddenly, it vanished.

“Very neatly done. I like your style.”

Margot whirled to the voice. Sitting on the patio outside the diner was…not her bartender. A figure dressed in rough-spun cotton beckoned her forward, a lazy grin on his (or was it her? Margot couldn’t tell) face. Their features were unassuming and plain.

But there was no mistaking that voice. Margot sat in the offered chair. “Unless I’m terribly mistaken, do I have the pleasure of speaking with Anansi?”

Black eyes glittered with amusement. “You do.”

“I thought you would be preforming tonight,” Margot said.

“Who says I haven’t been?” Anansi leaned on their elbows. Long, spiderlike fingers intertwined together. “When I heard whispers a professor from the Kempeston Academy wished to speak with me I had to make sure it was worth my time.” Anansi’s lips quirked in the smile of a teacher indulging a favored student. “That spell was clever. I’ve not seen it before.”

“I work at a school for magic. Knowing how to trace a spell is an unfortunate necessity,” Margot said wryly. “How did you know I’m a professor?”

“I make it my business to know who wants to find me, darling. Time is a finite resource; it has never been my habit to waste mine.” The smile transformed into a sharp, biting smirk, amusement shifting to menace. “So far you’ve been interesting enough to be worth my while. Please do not prove me wrong.”

“I had some questions about your performance before the mage’s conference,” Margot said.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”

Margot hesitated a moment, before saying, “I suppose it would be more accurate to say I was wondering about what happened afterword. This might seem like a strange question, but did you speak with Master Arthur Wright?”

Anansi’s eyebrows crept up toward their hairline. “I did not. Why go through all the trouble of finding me only to ask about a man I’ve never met?”

“I’m acquainted with Master Wright’s son. He said that his father wanted to talk with you after your performance.”

“So he sent you to find out what his daddy wanted?” Anansi said disbelievingly.

“Felix Wright was nearly blinded by the explosion. It will be some time before he’s fully recovered,” Margot said, choosing her words carefully. It didn’t seem wise to let Anansi know she was investigating a possible murder. “I said I would ask as a favor to him.”

“That is strangely kind of you,” Anansi said.

“I didn’t realize you would be this difficult to find when I agreed,” Margot admitted.

Anansi laughed. “Fair enough. I’m sorry to say that Felix is wrong. I know Arthur Wright only by reputation,” Anansi consulted a battered pocket watch. “Now, I have no interest speaking about a dead man who I’ve never met, but it seems a shame to leave you with nothing to show for your efforts. I’ll answer three questions, and no more.”

Margot drummed her fingers against the table as she thought. She couldn’t tell if Anansi was lying, or if this was some sort of test. Either way she didn’t want to waste what little opportunity she had.

Her first instinct was simply to ask more about Master Wright, but Margot discarded that idea as foolishness. If Anansi was telling the truth then they likely knew nothing about the murder of Arthur Wright. If they were lying then there was no way they would answer a direct inquiry.

Finally Margot settled on a question. “Whose face did you wear when you preformed The Death of Desdemona?”

“You say it as if I’ve stolen something,” Anansi chuckled. “And the answer is no one in particular. I take inspiration from those around me, but my faces are all my own. The part called for a female, so I created one that I felt would resonate with the audience. It’s trickier than you might think—academia is disproportionately elvish, so one might think that an elf would be best suited for the role, but there are those sticks in the mud who would call it a travesty to let a young elvish lady anywhere near the stage.” Anansi grinned wolfishly. “That was what decided it, in the end. I always enjoy knocking on the door of the closeminded.”

“Really?” Margot said.

“No society is perfect, and there are times people need reminded of that fact,” Anansi said. “I’ve performed in the orcish Lowlands as a runt and the Deephome Mountains as a beardless dwarf.” Anansi shrugged, a picture of worldly wisdom. “It’s a balancing act. I can’t afford to distract too much from the performances or alienate my audience completely lest no one hire me, illusions or no. But the benefit of having a thousand faces means I always have the right mask no matter the situation.”

Margot nodded slowly in understanding. “So to be clear, your character wasn’t physically based on anyone that you know.”

“Nothing is new under the sun, darling,” Anansi said. “I’m sure there were features that resembled people I’ve seen or worked with in the past, but as a whole the character of Desdemona was my own. Next question, please, and be careful as it’s your last.”

“But I’ve only asked one,” Margot said.

“If that was your intention then you ought to be more careful with your diction,” Anansi said. “After I said I enjoy knocking on the door of the closeminded you said, ‘really?’ with the inflection of a question—a question which I answered as promised.”

A flare of anger tore through Margot at the abuse of technicality, but then Anansi rested their chin on a hand and waited patiently, a look of angelic innocence on their face. Margot swallowed her argument, and with enormous effort managed a smile of her own. It was a smile she’d perfected during her post-graduate studies, perfectly civil and with an edge that could kill a man with a single look.

“You’re right. Unfortunately not all of us are destined for the stage,” she said sweetly. “In that case, where would the best way I could get into contact with you if I needed to speak with you again?”

Anansi blinked, a startled expression flashing briefly across their face. Then they laughed, surprisingly rich and full. So full that Margot suspected it was genuine.

“Oh, I like you,” Anansi said, wiping away a tear of mirth from the corner of their eye. “Well done, darling, well done. Luckily for you I’m planning to stay in the city for another five days. Look for me at the Red Griffin Inn after the noon bell. For a half-penny I’ll tell you whatever story you want to know.”

Anansi got to their feet and shook Margot’s hand warmly. “A final piece of advice, darling, free of charge. Reputation is a man’s greatest and most fragile mask. Look behind it at your own risk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Margot asked.

“It means I would think very carefully before taking on errands for Felix Wright. You might not like what you find.”

#The Murder of Arthur Wright #daughter of the lilies #Dotl #dotl fanfiction #Margot

[7v0iz]

FAQs: Re-uploading, Tagging, and Referencing my Art

I’ve been getting some questions lately- I know a lot of artists have ‘rules’ and whatever to follow when interacting with their art. Re-uploading, what to tag, what not to tag, referencing, etc. Which is understandably cool.

H O W E V E R

Personally with myself and my art: I don’t mind what anyone does for the most part lol. I’m really chill with a lot of things most artists aren’t.

(THIS DOES NOT APPLY TO COMMISSIONS.)

The client is the only one with any freedom of their commission. (Other than likes and shares/reblogs.)

Keep reading for specifics!

To other artists:

New to the beautiful world of art and want to experiment be it referencing, or hecc even tracing over something I did line from line? Go ahead I’m honored to play a small part in your journey.

Wanna upload that photo? Do it and tag me so I can see fam I get heckin’ blushy and warm when stuff like that happens to me. (Please credit if it’s really close to a trace! Light references, just tag me in the comments so I can see. :P)

See something in my style that catches your eye and you want to adapt it in your own style? Good! Again, I’m honored. That’s how we learn. Experimenting and learning from one another is a great way to grow as an artist. (This doesn’t need crediting.)

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To those who may interact with my art:

Wanna re-upload something of mine? That’s fine just leave credit, please! This usually brings in some new followers so it does personally make me happy if anything.

Wanna make it your profile picture or add it to a profile? Aaa I’m honored! Just leave credit, please.

Wanna add a filter or frame to said drawing? Idc lol just credit please.

Don’t like my ship but it’s a group picture, my ship are just merely holding hands or something meanwhile your OTP are subtly looking at each other regardless? Go ahead and slap your ship tag on it.

To add to the previous bullet: (Now this is rare since I don’t typically gravitate towards ships caught in this situation since I’m a sucker for that sweet like-a-sibling trope) But if I drew something (in a platonicly debatable set of poses,) between two characters a large clump of the fandom considers ‘like siblings’ but you CANNOT stand the ship? Still like the art though because you see it platonicly even if I, the artist, did not intend it that way? Share it and tag it with the brotp version of their combined names. (Unless they’re kissing or whatever… I’m sorry but please don’t tag romantically obvious drawings as ‘siblings’…) but I don’t see that being an issue here lol. I don’t have any ships like that so… But same goes vice versa.

Maybe I drew a character with intentions of the character as their assigned sex but you have a Headcanon that the character is another gender. Pick a headcanon any headcanon and tag that shit up. Chances are if I see the tag I’ll see how you could see that in my drawing even if it’s not what I intended.

Man, tag any headcanon you see fits.

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Basically…

I’m not here to judge and I’m definitely not here to deal with petty ‘fandom drama.’ We all interpret art differently and have a right to do so. Do I have opinions on certain ships or characters? Certainly. Buuuut I talk about my opinions with my girlfriend most of the time lol. I’m not going to post it on here where I post art. Why? It’s not necessary and my opinion on something as silly as fictional ships doesn’t matter to everyone. I’ll express my opinion through a drawing. (ie ships I like obviously.) but I don’t want to rain on a parade where people are just having a good time liking whatever it is they like.

And yes there are controversial things with ships (ie abusive characters, wild age gaps, possible relations, etc.) Look… The ships I generally go for are rivals-to-lovers like Klance or best-friends-to-something-more like Promptis so I don’t condone that. Not going into details. If someone tags my art as a ship like that because they got that vibe from my drawing… like I said, not here for drama. It’s pointless because we’re not going to change each other’s opinion. I’ll be confused as to how they saw it in the drawing probably but in the end, I appreciate that you liked it nonetheless.

All in all: Not everyone is going to see things the same way as myself. I respect artists wishes when it comes to them asking for others not to specifically tag certain things, but for my own art I mean… A lot of ships we have in our fandoms weren’t the creators intention either. Yet, we still managed to see it so when it comes to my art I just look at it that way. I’m just not into getting into controversial stuff in fiction. I get why some have very strong opinions to avoid certain things. Just personally, I’m not here to argue or fight. I don’t draw to do that either so please keep all of that at bay.

Pretty much my only rule is if you reupload anything of mine or whatever:

Leave credit.

The only things I’m not cool with is using my art in a hateful way (ie ship bashing) and blatantly just taking my art and saying you drew it but I haven’t had that issue lol.

Oh and uh this one goes without saying but I'ma say it anyway…ahem. DON’T SELL MY ART OR HEAVILY REFERENCE ANYTHING FOR A COMMISSION. The first one’s obvious but the commission portion is mostly for your commissioner’s sake. They commissioned you for a reason and I’m not sure they’d appreciate buying a copy. (Unless the commissioner knows then hell by all means go for it as long as it’s not a straight up traced since there’s pay involved lol.)

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But man. I appreciate anyone who even just simply looks at my art lol it means a lot to me. Every little comment makes me feel amazing about myself so that’s why I’m making this post. I want people to feel good doing what they want too.

I may not agree with everything BUT I’m too tired all the time to care. :P

This was WAY longer than I planned… but I wanted to make my own “rule” list.

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PLEASE KEEP IN MIND***

Not all artists are cool with these things. Everyone has their own comfort zones when it comes to their art. Please be respectful of each and every artist’s personal rules!

#ramblingboi #artists #ships #brotp #otp #headcanon #fanart #rules #FAQs