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edendaphne · 5 years

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“Discordant Sonata” Ch. 11

(Feat. beautiful artwork I commissioned from the amazing @corgi-likes-chat!) **Edit: I moved the image above the cut so it could be admired by everyone who scrolls by 😍

Time for some Ladynoir! :D

>Read it here on Ao3<

>Read it here on Wattpad<

CHAPTER 11: CAMBIARE

Music glossary: Cambiare: a musical instruction indicating some kind of orchestral change, such as using a new instrument.

(Mood music: Love Like You (Piano cover) - Steven Universe)

Ladybug squirmed nervously on her own family room sofa, sitting face to face across from her very own parents. Her skin felt prickly and uncomfortable, and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve suspected Tikki of lacing her suit with itching powder as a prank.

The aforementioned husband and wife were none the wiser about her substantial anxiety, for they were far too shocked (as well as star-struck) about the sudden appearance of Paris’ beloved hero at their doorstep that morning. Their eyes were glued to her, following her hand as she raised a glass of orange juice to her mouth, as if it had never occurred to them that Ladybug would ever have to eat or drink. She would have found it hilarious if she wasn’t so utterly terrified about asking them to let Chat stay at their house until he was fully healed.

She’d shown up at their house an hour before the bakery opened, claiming that she’d seen Chat Noir’s signal on her communicator and had become worried; and that she was looking for him. They ushered her in and explained what had happened, and had quickly agreed when she asked them if they’d be willing to house him for a little while longer.

The superheroine took a long gulp to calm her nerves, then continued in her most professional voice, “Thank you for understanding. I’m ever so grateful that you’re willing to help us in these difficult times. If I were able to take Chat Noir into my own home, I most definitely would. But as it stands, our identities remaining a secret, even from each other, is of utmost importance.”

“Of course, Ladybug, we understand!” Sabine chirped emphatically. “We’re happy to help! Especially after all you do every day for our city; it’s the least we can do. Chat Noir is welcome to stay for as long as he’d like.”

“Thank you for entrusting us with this information,” Tom chimed in. “It’s good to know that he’s not under Hawkmoth’s control anymore.” He crossed his arms with a frown. “I just can’t believe that evil man would try to kill his own ally!”

“You and I both,” Ladybug replied, unable to conceal the sadness in her voice. “It seems Chat Noir was attempting to mediate peace between both sides; but as you can see, it backfired terribly.” She added sadly, “If only I’d known, I could have fought alongside him against Hawkmoth.”

The girl couldn’t suppress the heavy sigh that escaped her lips. She’d always tried to maintain an assertive, optimistic air about her while in the company of other people. But these weren’t just “other people”; they were her parents . Somehow, here, at this moment, with the people she was the most comfortable being vulnerable around, maintaining that composure was remarkably difficult. The emotional wounds were too fresh, the fear too overwhelming.

“Don’t blame yourself, Ladybug,” Sabine replied comfortingly, reaching forward and squeezing the hand on her lap. “You’re doing the best you can, but you can’t do everything . That’s why we want to help however we can.”

“Yes, you can count on us!” Tom exclaimed. “So, do you have a phone number or…? Is there a way for us to keep in touch with you?”

Ladybug brought out her yo-yo, opening it to show them her communicator. “Chat Noir and I can call each other from our weapons. They also serve as tracking devices between us. It’s how I found you today; I can follow his signal when he’s transformed.”

“Tracking signal?” Tom asked curiously. “Couldn’t you use it to find Hawkmoth?”

She shook her head. “It only works for miraculous holders who are allies. That’s why it works between me and Chat now… and why Hawkmoth can’t trace him anymore. He won’t be able to find him here.”

“I see,” Tom answered, pursing his lips into a thin line, brows furrowed in consternation.

Ladybug could tell that her father still seemed ill at ease about something, adding a bit of tension into the air. She brought the glass back to her lips and took her time sipping the juice, filling the silence until he could sort out what he wanted to say. The question hovered on his tongue, as if he was worried he’d offend her, but ultimately he couldn’t ignore his concern.

He rubbed the back of his head nervously when he finally spoke, “I’m sorry to ask this, but… Are you absolutely positive that Chat Noir is a good guy now? Do you truly, honestly know that he won’t betray you?”

A sliver of doubt briefly flashed inside Ladybug, its sharp thorns trying to worm their way inside her heart.

She mercilessly squashed that knot of apprehension in her chest, utterly furious at herself for allowing it to form in the first place. After all, Chat Noir was literally in the next room, recovering from his brush with death.

She chased the hated feeling away with all her memories of him, thinking about the way he made her feel; how protective she felt of him. During her daily life, her thoughts often drifted back to him, wondering if he was safe, wondering if he was happy. She thought back to how he had confided to her as Marinette just a few hours prior. She couldn’t allow any hesitation whatsoever to take hold; not after all they’d been through together so far. Despite their history, or maybe because of it, Chat had absolute faith in her; and she had to have the same amount of faith in him. She needed to believe that he was strong enough to overcome his past. That he wouldn’t allow himself to be manipulated by Hawkmoth once again.

Tom’s question was a reasonable one. Her father loved his family fiercely and would do absolutely anything to keep them safe. Last night had been evidence enough of that. However, she wasn’t sure if she could explain to her parents just how important Chat was to her, or how they were so intrinsically linked by fate. She yearned to be able to tell them more. After all, how could she possibly express that she was, and forever would be, connected to him?

She fixed Tom with a piercing gaze, voice laden with sincerity. “I trust Chat Noir with my life.”

Tom and Sabine looked at each other with matching smiles.

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Like my wife said, he can stay for as long as he wants.”

“We’re so happy that you finally have a partner,” Sabine said, reaching over and squeezing her hands again.

Ladybug smiled and squeezed back, letting out a small sigh of relief. “You’re both extremely generous. I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t think he has anywhere else to go. Not anywhere that would be safe for him, anyway. I’ll talk to him and see what he says. If he agrees to stay, I’ll be sure to visit from time to time to see how you’re all doing.”

“Sounds great,” Tom replied. “Let us know if there’s anything else you need.”

Ladybug eyed the guest bedroom door, pointing to it. “Actually, do you mind if I–”

Sabine nodded. “Please, go right ahead. We need to start getting everything ready for opening hours anyhow.”

“Thank you.”

They all rose and shook hands, with Sabine offering a motherly hug afterwards. The familiar, loving arms encircling Ladybug offered her more comfort than Sabine could possibly know. Making a mental note of doing something extra nice for them this week (she owed them big time), she made her way to the guest bedroom.

She had scarcely turned the door handle when she was knocked to the ground as the door swung open, a stupefied, rather ruffled (yet thankfully, fully clothed) Chat Noir inelegantly tumbling on top of her with a deadpan “OW.” He propped himself up on his arms, hovering above her, both of them wearing matching bewildered expressions, complete with dropped jaws.

“L-LADYBUG!! W-what a pleasant surprise!” he stuttered, face red, looking quite like a cat who’d been caught in the act of unfurling an entire toilet paper roll.

Her face paled. “Chat! Are you okay? Did that hurt?!”

He cracked an impish smile and replied with a playful chuckle, “You mean, when I fell from heaven?”

Quickly recovering from the abrupt non-greeting, Ladybug’s wide eyes narrowed and she quirked a teasing grin. “Why, Monsieur Noir, you couldn’t possibly have been eavesdropping, could you?” she teased.

“N-no, mademoiselle! Not me, not at all! Why would I do such a thing?” he forced an innocent laugh, which only succeeded in making him sound even more guilty.

“Sooo, you were just leaning on the door for no reason whatsoever?”

“T-that’s right, Milady! Nothing suspicious about that, of course!”

She made a brief hum, trying to conceal her amusement. “I must say, I’m not entirely convinced, Chaton.”

Chat pouted his lips. “You wound me, Bugaboo! I just happened to overhear that my favorite superhero had dropped by.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I believe I’m the only superhero you know, silly.”

“Well… you’re still my favorite,” he winked at her with a roguish look that caused her breath to catch, a rush of heat and color flooding to her cheeks.

A brief wheezing noise jolted them from their banter, and their heads whipped around to meet the Dupains’ flabbergasted stares, mouths hanging open like oven doors.

For a few awkward moments, the ticking of a wall clock was the only sound that resonated across the room, louder than Ladybug had ever heard it tick.

“UMMM, here,” Chat finally broke the silence, scrambling to stand up and offering his hand.

“Um… Thanks,” she replied.

A few more seconds ticked by, and Ladybug indistinctly wondered if this was what it felt like to be in a police lineup.

“SO! Uhh…” Tom began with a sputter.

“We’re just gonna–” Sabine muttered haltingly, pointing towards the living room exit.

“Yes!! Go right ahead! Please excuse us, THANKYOUFORYOURHOSPITALITY!!!” Ladybug cried, grabbing Chat by the bicep and practically dragging him into the guest bedroom, then closed the door behind them with a (louder than she intended) thunk.

(Mood music: I Was Lost Without You (piano version) - Mass Effect Soundtrack )

Ladybug leaned backwards onto the closed door with a mighty “PHEW!”, closing her eyes in thankful reprieve. The talk with her parents had gone much better than she’d anticipated, despite the ridiculous and abrupt parting. All that was left was to convince Chat to stay. Maybe he’d listen to Ladybug, since her words carried more authority than Marinette’s due to her status as a protector of the city.

“So, you found me,” Chat’s lilting voice brought her back into the moment. She opened her eyes and saw him across the room, arms crossed and leaning against the far wall. He wore his usual carefree smirk, but she noted his tensed shoulders and the position of the cape, purposely positioned to hide the bandages and bruises on his arm. Trying to downplay the severity of his injuries, she realized.

Ladybug put her hands behind her back and pursed her lips, replying impassively, “I did.”

Nervous butterflies filled her insides. Chat had told her as Marinette that he didn’t want Ladybug to find out he’d been hurt. Would he be upset that she’d shown up out of the blue? The thought of him not wanting to see her sent a cold, uncomfortable trickle down her spine. This wasn’t how she wanted their partnership to kick off. Instead of a joyous flurry of excitement and camaraderie, it had all turned somber and ominous, with the added burden of having to be even more cautious and alert than ever from now on.

UGH , this was so hard!! She hated that she couldn’t tell him her identity, or know his. It would make things so much simpler if there didn’t have to be any more secrets between them. Fu had explained why he shouldn’t know her identity; the risk of akumatization was still too great. But why shouldn’t she know his? Wouldn’t knowing who he was in real life make it easier for her to be able to look out for him? She made a mental note to visit Fu as soon as Chat recovered so they could discuss the matter further, along with the myriad of other questions about their current situation.

Putting those concerns on hold for a later date, Ladybug asked Chat hesitantly. “How are you feeling?”

Smiling wide, he replied, “Great! Fit as a fiddle, Bugaboo! Don’t you worry your gorgeous little head; I’m always ready and at your service.” As if to demonstrate, he stepped away from the wall, and bowed with a flourish.

“Is that right?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Of course! See for yourself.” He shifted his stance, suppressing a wince that she might’ve missed had she not been looking closely; and he stood hand on hip in the trademark cocky pose she’d seen countless times before, almost imperceptibly bearing most of his weight on one leg.

“Uh-huh…” she replied skeptically, eyeing him up and down. “So why are you walking with a limp?”

Chat’s face scrunched up like he’d sucked on a lemon. Shrugging, he fumbled out, “I– uh… stubbed my toe on the bedpost?” He pointed back towards the bed and gave her the phoniest, most ridiculous cheshire grin; and had it been any other occasion, she would’ve busted out laughing at his antics.

Instead, she frowned. “Chat…” she said with a disapproving tone and he winced in response.

She walked slowly towards him, stopping just past arm’s length.

“You know you can tell me anything. The most important part of being partners–of being friends – is trust and honesty.” She lifted her hand, placing it gently on top of his hidden arm. Her voice got softer, more solemn; she continued, “I’m sure you’ve had to hide a lot of things from Hawkmoth; out of fear. But you have nothing to fear from me. I promise.”

He looked away, expression changing completely, becoming downcast. Looking almost ashamed somehow, which made Ladybug’s heart ache. Chat slowly removed his cloak, revealing the heavily bandaged arm underneath, and set the garment down on the bed.

He bit his lower lip, absentmindedly rubbing his wounded arm. “How did you find out that I was… th-that I wasn’t okay?”

“I–” Ladybug’s gaze dropped, staring intently at the floor. “I don’t really know how to explain it, but… I could feel that something was wrong. Like an intuition, or a sixth sense. You and I are linked, and that connection is stronger now that we’re officially a team,” she explained. “I just couldn’t shake off that vibe, that feeling of wrongness. I had to look for you and see for myself. Your signal drew me here, and the Dupains explained everything.”

“I had no idea…” Chat said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really worried about Pl... my kwami. Plagg. He’s…” He cleared his throat; his hands fidgeted restlessly with the belt around his midsection. “I-I can’t detransform. I have no idea how long I’m gonna stay like this. Th-that’s never happened to me before. Keeping up the transformation is... i-it must really be taking its toll on Plagg and his powers.” He looked at her with eyes full of concern and fear. “I just… I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” His eyebrows quirked upwards, as if daring to hope for answers. “Has… the Guardian ever mentioned something like this happening in the past? With other miraculous holders?”

She nodded. “I’m told that it’s a failsafe to protect the wielder. You’ll remain transformed until you’re fully healed.” She disliked having to omit so many of the details, like Fu’s involvement in this case and the special potion that he prepared for Plagg, but there was no way to share that without revealing her identity.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s really good to know. Thank you,” he uttered with a tiny smile.

Ladybug smiled back tenderly, noticing the way some of the tension left his shoulders, his posture relaxing somewhat. Chat’s concern for his kwami touched her, reminding her of her own relationship with Tikki. It made her feel better that they’d had each other throughout these horrible past few years.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t contact you. I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve already been through so much because of us– because of me. Yesterday I promised that I’d never give you any more trouble again.” He swallowed thickly, looking away, blinking rapidly as if trying to fend off tears that were threatening to form. “But I guess I can’t even do that right. I’m sorry.”

Chat’s entire person radiated shame and self-loathing. It was obvious that he placed her well-being above his own, both physical and emotional, as if his own was irrelevant or unimportant.

But how could he possibly be upset at himself for almost dying? Why in the world would he be apologizing and thinking that he was an inconvenience to her?! Was this something he had to do often back at home with his father?

Her mind stopped in its tracks. Her brows furrowed, realization dawning upon her like freezing rain.

She understood.

This was all he knew.

Apologizing was second nature to him. Apologizing for any actions that were perceived as mistakes. Apologizing for having opinions. Apologizing for having feelings. Years upon years of having to hide his inner self for fear of repercussion.

Chat having an opinion was of no matter to Hawkmoth. As far as he was concerned, Chat’s emotions were inconsequential, trivial at best.

And the worst part was: Chat had believed him. He’d had to ignore his thoughts and beliefs since who knows when, convinced that his feelings truly did not matter. She realized this now, and it hurt. The fact that he’d managed to avoid becoming a cold, cruel person in spite of this was astounding, to say the least.

When was the last time his emotional needs were met? Did he even know, or remember, what that was like?

Ladybug’s skin felt icy, yet her insides were scorching with fiery indignation. Towards Hawkmoth. Towards herself. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest and she couldn’t contain herself anymore.

She cried, practically yelling, “NO, don’t you be sorry!!” She surged forward, crossing the remaining distance, her own eyes quickly becoming wet.

Chat’s confused gaze shot up to meet hers, eyes still glossy.

“This was all my fault! I shouldn’t have left you all alone after the akuma attack! It was.. UGH!! I was so stupid!!”

Ladybug crossed her arms tightly, curling in on herself, as if she was trying to become as small as she felt inside.

“I got so distracted by everything that had happened and didn’t even consider that you’d be in such danger. I should’ve met up with you later and figured something out, helped work out an escape plan, or something! I should have known!! I should’ve– AUGH!!” She covered her face with her hands with a choked sob, tears finally falling freely. “It was my fault that you got hurt! I’m the one who needs to apologize!!”

Chat paled, stiff as a board as he watched her crying, shaking form.

Hands shooting up to grasp her shoulders, he exclaimed in distress, “My Lady, no!! No, please don’t think that! There’s nothing for me to forgive! You had no way of knowing! Oh, please don’t cry, Bugaboo… Not for my sake. It wasn’t your fault. Never!”

He pulled her into his arms, both of them trembling slightly. He gingerly stroked the back of her head as she lay against him, sobbing quietly.

“Hawkmoth is to blame here, not you,” he cooed. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“But I could have prevented this! I almost lost you!” she insisted, sniffling and hiccuping uncontrollably.

He squeezed her tightly. “Hey, I’m still here. It’s okay. It was a close call, but I’m alright now, I promise,” he reassured her. “There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent it, believe me. He would have found me sooner or later; of that I’m sure.”

“I should’ve at least been there with you when you faced him,” she retorted.

She felt him shake his head. “I’m glad you weren’t. I couldn’t live with myself if anything had happened to you, too.”

“You… you don’t think we could have defeated him, together?” she asked hesitantly, looking up at him through a blurry lens of damp eyelashes.

“It’s hard to say.” Chat frowned, his view distant. “I found out that he’s done... something to augment the strength of his miraculous. Something risky and unnatural. I don’t know what or how. But it’s affecting him; him and his miraculous. He’s immensely powerful, but also incredibly unpredictable. Volatile. I think he’s losing control, not just of his powers, but of his own mind.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure how to respond to this revelation. An intense chill gripped her, clawing insistently from the back of her neck, and she couldn’t help but nuzzle closer against Chat’s warm chest, careful not to irritate the deep gash on his torso.

What could Hawkmoth have done to achieve such a feat? And why? A storm of questions inundated her brain, the sheer amount almost dizzying. There was so much uncertainty and danger in their future, and, truth be told, she wasn’t just scared; she was absolutely terrified. What could two not-quite-adults possibly do against this kind of a threat? She hadn’t felt this unsuited to bear the title of Ladybug since the day she first accepted the earrings.

As her tears slowed and her sight became less obscured, she froze as she caught sight of what was poking out from under Chat’s collar. Deep purple, almost black bruises around his neck, the passage of time having darkened them to their current sickly hue. She hadn’t noticed them last night, as he was so covered with blood, dirt, and scratches that one could scarcely tell one wound from another. And they certainly weren’t this color.

Her stomach twisted and her eyes widened in horror as she realized the implication of such an injury. How could that monster do such a thing to his own son?!?

She whimpered softly, trying to choke back another sob.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair!!

Why should he have to suffer so much more than she ever had?? Or more than anyone else she knew, for that matter? How could the universe be so unjust, so incredibly cruel?!

Her eyes conjured up a new flood of tears, and she didn’t even register that she’d reached up to stroke the bruises on his neck, pulling down on his collar slightly so she could examine them; caressing them as though she could make them disappear if she only wished for it hard enough.

Chat gasped slightly at the contact, cheeks reddening at the intimacy of her touch. She could feel his chest rise and fall, his breathing shifting into a new rhythm.

She spoke, voice soft and airy, almost a whisper, her breath ghosting against his neck, “I wish I’d known it sooner; known what you’ve had to go through all these years.”

Chat smiled sadly, letting out a short, thoughtful noise. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I would’ve been ready to accept your help back then. I think I had to figure out for myself just how far my father had fallen. That we were chasing after something that wasn’t meant to be.”

Ladybug made a mental note to ask him about said objective some other time, when he wasn’t under such physical and mental stress. Surely the goal was something extremely significant for Chat to have blindly obeyed Hawkmoth for all these years. But what was it?

Ladybug pressed her lips together into a thin line. “I just… Hawkmoth needs to be stopped. I won’t let him hurt you again. I need to be better. I need to do more .”

“You’re already doing plenty, Buginette. And you’ve managed it all by yourself all these years; don’t sell yourself short,” he replied earnestly. “You’ve helped me so much already. Way more than I deserve.”

A sharp pang of sorrow struck her heart upon hearing him speak this way yet again. Before the night of their ballroom dance, she’d thought that Chat’s ostentatious bravado and cockiness were merely due to arrogance and egotism. It had made it easier to fight when she believed her enemy was just a rotten smart aleck.

But now she knew better; it had all been for show.

Did he have any other loved ones in his personal life? She really hoped so. Although, she suspected that if he did, his past actions would make him feel like that love was ill-deserved.

If only there was a way that she could help him realize how genuinely amazing he was. Just… how wonderful and unique and precious. This desire, this need to make him understand this, took root inside her heart, almost like a tangible weight that would refuse to go away until appeased.

Ladybug gently cupped Chat’s jaw and turned his head down to face hers. “Kitty… That isn’t true. You deserve so much more. You’re kind, selfless, and brave. I’ve never met anyone like you. Or anyone who’s overcome as much as you have. The only thing you don’t deserve is the horrific treatment you’ve suffered at the hands of that monster. Your worth is immeasurable, whether you realize it or not.” She paused, her eyes bored fiercely into his. “But I know it.”

Chat gaped at her, his face full of emotion. “Ladybug…” he murmured, voice rough and strained, as if he were trying to hold something back.

Ladybug stared into Chat’s impossibly green eyes, which were currently looking at her as if she was the dearest treasure he’d ever held. The chill down her spine changed into an almost overwhelming heat, and yet she couldn’t help but immerse herself in the fire of his gaze.

She stroked his cheek with her thumb, her brows turning upwards sorrowfully. “If only there was a way I could help make up for what you’ve lost. Some way to help the other ‘you’. The one behind the mask.” She sighed and whispered, “I wish I could tell you who I really am...”

Chat’s face reddened further and she felt him stiffen a bit. “I-I…” he trailed off, unsure of how to reply.

He swallowed thickly, and seeing the movement of his Adam’s apple was enough to make Ladybug become hyper-aware of how far she’d gotten into his personal space. She jolted upright, apprehension drenching her like a bucket of water, and her hand jerked back as if shocked by electricity. She winced, internally freaking out that her words and actions were unwelcome or too forward.

Why did I even bring up our identities?? God, I must be making him so uncomfortable!! Why do I always blurt out stuff like a total idiot when I’m with him?!

“S-sorry, I shouldn’t have–” she stuttered, looking away and wiping furiously at her tears. She started to step away from him, immediately missing the comfort of his broad, warm chest.

“Wait!” Chat interjected. He stopped her from pulling away fully, holding her hand and keeping her close, almost touching. He gently lifted her chin with his other hand, so she would meet his eyes again. She left out a soft gasp, her cheeks heating up under his intense gaze.

“My Lady…” he uttered longingly, voice low and thick with emotion.

Piercing emerald eyes held hers captive, so mesmerizing and beautiful that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to look away even if she desired to. It felt as though he was staring past the mask and straight through into her soul, able to understand it. Able to understand her.

He continued fervently, “I swear to you that as soon as you feel it’s safe to do so, I’ll be the first to reveal my identity to you. Just say the word. I trust you, one hundred percent.”

A pleasant wave of goosebumps covered her entire body, and she could only reply with a timid smile, a bright blush creeping on her cheeks yet again.

This wasn’t how she’d planned for their reunion to go. There’d been a lot more tears and a lot less professionalism than she’d expected. Regardless, they’d cleared the air and paved the way to move forward. Together.

Ladybug squeezed his forearm lightly, trying to blink away her remaining tears. “I’m sorry… I’m supposed to be the one comforting you, not the other way around.”

“Let me,” he replied, stroking her cheek softly and wiping the wet streaks. “And let yourself accept it. You’re incredibly strong, Buginette. Both physically and mentally. But you’re not invulnerable. And you’re overworking yourself. You didn’t get any time to recover from everything that happened to you yesterday. I want to take care of you, too. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it, without question. Anything at all.”

The girl couldn’t help but blush at his honesty and forthrightness, almost too flustered to realize that he’d given her the perfect opportunity to ask for the thing that most heavily weighed on her mind at the moment. Almost.

Well… here goes.

Ladybug squeezed his hand tightly. “Chat… Will you stay? Here, with the Dupains?” she asked hopefully. “I just… I need to know you’ll be alright. Please?”

Upon hearing this, Chat visibly shrunk into himself a bit, brows turning upwards in concern. He replied nervously, “I-if that’s what you want. A-and as long as they’re really okay with it. Yes, I’ll do it. I can stay.”

She smiled broadly at him, elated to hear him agree. He was staying! He was going to be okay!! A healing wave of relief washed away the immense worry about his safety, and she felt significantly lighter. Practically throwing herself at him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave his cheek a long, loud smooch, eliciting a small gasp from him.

“That’s great!!” she cried happily, pulling him into a tight hug. “The Dupains will take good care of you, I promise! I’ve already talked to them about it. They’re willing to let you stay for as long as you need.”

He hugged back, albeit a bit flustered. “A-are you sure it’s alright? I’m just... scared of anything happening to them because of me.”

Ladybug pulled away enough to be able to look into his eyes. “I understand why you’d be worried, but believe me, everything will be fine. Hawkmoth would never think to look for you here. Taking care of your wellbeing is the priority, and they want to help us. They’re good people. It’ll be good for you to be around them. And…” She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “You’ll be safe. That’s what’s most important to me right now. You deserve to be able to sleep at night without being afraid.”

He looked upon her tenderly, gaze full of wonder and affection. He sighed and uttered, voice laden with awe, “You’re incredible… ” He cleared his throat, face turning bright pink, and stammered, “Th-that is… You’re all amazing. I’ll make sure to be the best houseguest ever.”

Ladybug giggled, her own cheeks flushed. “I don’t doubt it, Chaton,” she replied fondly, squeezing him back into the biggest hug she could manage. Chat’s arms wrapped around her waist in response, clinging onto her like a lifeline.

Ladybug sighed happily, and she heard, as well as felt, that same low, throaty purr she’d come to recognize immediately. She loved it.

It felt great to be able to rest easy knowing exactly where Chat was and that his life wasn’t in constant peril. Knowing that he was being cared for instead of being abused, or being forced to do something he didn’t want.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, just reveling in each others’ companionship. They’d earned this short reprieve.

But of course, as much as they’d both wanted it to, this moment couldn’t last forever.

Ladybug exhaled through her nose wearily, giving him one last squeeze. “I should go.”

Chat pulled away but still kept her close, standing almost chest to chest against each other. He gazed at her with eyes full of yearning and fascination.

“When can I see you again?” he asked softly. “I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Fire spread through Ladybug’s chest, quickly rushing to her face, and she had to fight the bout of speechlessness that threatened to overcome her. Her eyes dropped from his own like stones, only to land on his toned abdominals, which caused the burning to intensify. Again they fled, darting around, searching for something else to focus on, anything, until they finally settled on the hardwood floor.

Why was she reacting this way to what he said?! He just wanted to spend time together! That’s what friends do, right?! So why was she getting so hot and bothered over it??

Despite her brain temporarily short-circuiting, she miraculously managed to remember that Chat Noir was supposed to remain beside Tikki for the next two days, and should stay here at home.

She skittishly twiddled with the ends of her hair, stammering, “Oh! I- umm! My schedule? I-I have to– I need... school shopping! For school! ‘Cuz it starts next week! A-and, uh... You need to get in my bed. UM, I-I mean... I need to get in your bed. Wait, NO!!” she squawked, waving her hands around like a madwoman. “THAT IS, YOU NEED TO GET BACK IN BED!! T-to get some rest!!! S-so how about… Saturday?”

She facepalmed audibly. WOW, Marinette, just wow. Real smooth. First you amaze him with your incoherent blubbering and bawling, and get his shirt all wet. And now you astound him with your sterling display of eloquence. Great job making a good impression of a person who’s got all their crap together! UGH!

Was there any chance he wouldn’t notice if she spontaneously combusted? Why couldn’t one of her powers be for the earth to swallow her whole?! And why in the world was she acting this way with Chat Noir?! He was her partner! There was absolutely no reason for her to get so flustered!

Despite her less than sophisticated demeanor, Chat chuckled affectionately, bringing her out of her mental freakout. Smiling widely, he tilted her head upwards by the chin so their eyes would meet yet again. “Saturday sounds wonderful. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Y-yeah… Cool…” Ladybug breathed out dopily, struggling to remain upright despite her legs having suddenly turned to gelatin.

He gently tucked some stray hair behind her ear. “Thank you, by the way,” he murmured, “For looking out for me. For being so nice, for going out of your way to make sure I’ll be alright. Just… thank you. For everything.”

Chat’s eyes were soft and kind, yet intense and bold; they twinkled with a look she’d never received from anyone else before. It was new and exciting. Thrilling. Tempting. They captured her, like a snake charmer, drawing her near, and she couldn’t look away. And yet, here she was, wholeheartedly willing to become ensnared by them, inextricably drawn to his melody.

“Anytime,” she whispered breathlessly.

His hand made his way up from her jaw to cup her cheek, sending an intoxicating shiver down her entire body.

Faintly, she noticed the proximity of their faces… When she gotten so close? Her gaze flitted to his mouth all on its own, and everything else went out of focus. Chat seemed to notice her action, and he bit his lip slightly with a blush. Her hands trailed idly up to settle on his chest of their own accord, and she wondered if he could hear her own heart pounding. It didn’t seem to matter much right now. Nothing really did. Her whole world was the sound of his breathing, the curve of his smile, the feel of his hand on her skin.

Chat’s other hand settled on the small of her back, and he drew her towards him. He let out a shaky sigh, placing his forehead against hers, eyes squeezed shut, and swallowed hard.

He was hesitating. Was he afraid? Or… was he waiting for permission?

Her brain screamed at her to stop everything and analyze her thoughts before proceeding or making any decisions, while her heart urged her to stop overthinking everything and just do what felt right.

But was there even a “right” choice? Nothing about this moment felt wrong. In fact, she felt completely at ease. Although, to be fair, it was difficult to feel or discern anything outside of the whirlwind of butterflies currently swarming in her stomach.

Even though nothing had come of it, or might ever come of it, she was still in love with Adrien; of that, there was no doubt. So then, what was it that she was feeling right now, with Chat? She felt like she was being tugged in opposite directions, a cacophony of voices arguing and shouting, their words indecipherable.

While her heart and her mind were busy battling, however, her body moved on its own as if possessed, inching closer and closer towards the subject of the aforementioned internal conflict.

Her own arms snaked around Chat’s waist and his eyes flew open, accompanied by a deep blush that quickly colored his face and extended to the tips of his ears. His breath was shaky and a bit shallow, and she realized that he was having an internal debate of his own.

Did he want this? Did she want this? What even was ��this”, anyway?? This whole situation was entirely new to her, and, so it appeared, seemed entirely new to him as well.

A thought occurred to her. It was so simple, but of course, it was anything but.

Why not just ask him?

After all, she had absolutely no clue what she was doing, and apparently he didn’t either, so neither had an advantage over the other. What did she have to lose?

Before she had a chance to ask, however, it was Chat who spoke first.

“My Lady… d-do you–”

A rattling door handle startled them apart, and just like that, the trance broke.

Sabine entered the room holding a small tray, but froze in her tracks upon seeing them. She let out a brief croak, but nothing else, as if her vocal chords had run away and left her behind. The couple stood there staring back, beet red with an exceedingly guilty look on their faces.

“MAMA–MA– MADAME!!” Ladybug yelped. “How nice to see you!”

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry!!” Sabine finally managed to stammer. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything! We’ve got fresh baked cookies and they’re still warm, so I thought I’d–”

“COOKIES!! I love cookies!” Ladybug interrupted, clasping her hands together. She stood stiff like a telephone pole, as if anchoring her feet heavily onto the ground would prevent her from floating away due to the embarrassment of having been caught in such an intimate position with her formal mortal enemy. She squeaked, “What a great idea! We should go to the kissing– I MEAN, TO THE KITCHEN!!”

Chat fared no better at his attempt to appear innocent. His mouth was pursed into a crooked pout; his eyes darted around like a kid attempting to hide stolen candy behind his back.

Sabine quirked an eyebrow inquisitively, eyes darting between them both. She replied, “Alright. I’ll let you wrap up in here and meet you at the, ahem – the kitchen.”

(Mood music: La Veillée - Yann Tiersen)

Sabine closed the door behind her and Ladybug let out a long, pitiful whine, hiding her face behind her hands, hoping that somehow she’d find a portal to another dimension within.

Chat wrapped his arm around her shoulders and remarked with a snicker, “Don’t be so nervous, Bugaboo! You’re starting to sound a lot like my friend, Marinette.”

Ladybug’s head whipped up like a spring and she let out a shaky chortle, a too-wide smile plastered on her face. “HAH! That’s funny! HAHAAA!! The Dupains’ daughter!! Cute, isn’t she?”

GOD, WHY DID I SAY THAT?! WHAT IN THE WORLD IS WRONG WITH ME?!!

Chat chuckled in amusement. “She sure is. She’s a big sweetheart, but she can be a bit excitable.”

Ladybug groaned internally, feeling her eye twitch. Understatement of the century.

She cleared her throat in an effort to snap herself out of her stuttering stupor and get the thumping in her chest under control, before she did something stupid.

Not trusting her traitorous mouth to not embarrass her further, she simply took Chat’s hand and made her way out of the bedroom and towards the sweet embrace of crumbly, sugary, chocolatey goodness. The one thing that always stayed the same in her life, no matter how confusing everything else got.

“I wonder where she is, anyway,” Chat mused aloud. “I’d love for you to meet her. I think you two would get along really well!”

Ladybug almost tripped on thin air, but managed to continue her speed-walk to the kitchen while internally screaming.

From the living area, Tom overheard what Chat had said and replied, “Oh, that’s a great idea! I’ll go fetch her so she can say hello! Maybe we can even get a picture of you two!”

Ladybug suppressed a shriek and dropped Chat’s arm like a sack of potatoes and whipped around to respond. “OHHH, you know what?? I just realized that I’m late for a, uh– dentist appointment!! I’d better go! Sorry I won’t get to meet your daughter! Next time, definitely!”

She rushed over to quickly shake hands with Tom and Sabine, thanking them yet again, then ran back to where Chat stood perplexed.

“Feel free to call or message me anytime,” she said to him. “My kwami will let me know if you’re trying to get in contact with me.”

He grinned back widely and replied with a wink, “Can do. Goodbye for now, My Lady.” He took her hand and, with a slight bow, gave it a soft kiss. He gazed at her with the same look as before, back in the bedroom. A look full of fondness. Respect. And… something else; that other emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Could it be…?

No… There was no way. She was just flattering herself by even entertaining the thought. Chat was just… a very affectionate friend. Someone who didn’t receive a lot of physical closeness in his daily life. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d be so touchy-feely with her. There might be some mutual attraction, sure (something that she still needed to sort her feelings about). But to imagine anything more would be delusional.

Regardless, his boldness always managed to knock the air out of her lungs, and she couldn’t help but be rendered speechless.

All at once, however, Ladybug could feel her parents’ stares from the back of her head, which Chat most certainly had not noticed (or if he did, he didn’t seem to care).

Pretty certain that her body had abruptly burst into flames, Ladybug stepped away with an awkward giggle and a small wave. “See you Saturday! We’ll have fun and make out–I mean HANG OUT!! SORRY, I’MJUSTGONNAGONOW, BYE!!!” she screeched, practically running into the door in her haste.

“Wait! What about your cookies?” Sabine called.

Ladybug skidded to a halt, throwing her hands in the air. “R-right!!! ‘Cause I love cookies!” She sprinted back to the countertop to grab a small handful, then bolted back towards the door. Squawking one last garbled goodbye, she swung the door closed, albeit unsuccessfully, the latter bouncing off the doorframe from the excessive force. The remaining three listened to Ladybug clamber down the stairs and exit the building in a span of time that would ordinarily be considered impossible.

About sixty seconds later, a pajama-clad Marinette descended the stairs from her bedroom with a loud, theatrical yawn, stretching her arms above her head. She called out, “Good morning, everyone!”

Tom replied, “Hey sleepyhead! You won’t believe who just stopped by!”

Maintaining her ruse, she answered innocently, “Hmm? Was it Alya? It seems a bit too early for her.”

Sabine chimed in, “Oh sweetie, this was definitely the worst morning for you to sleep in! Ladybug was here! At our house! She left a minute ago; you just barely missed each other!”

Marinette gave out a dramatic gasp, bringing her hand to her mouth, accompanied by a loud groan. “Oh noooo~! I missed Ladybug?? Darn my luck! Oh well, maybe next time!” She promptly changed the subject, plucking a cookie from the tray on the kitchen counter. “Oh, yum! You made cookies!”

Tom scrunched his eyebrows. “Uh... Marinette, we always have cookies.”

She giggled nervously. “O-oh yeah! Definitely one of the best perks of living in a bakery, that’s for sure!” She shoved most of the cookie into her mouth, thus preventing herself from blurting out any further absurdities. If anyone happened to notice how shaky her fingers were as she munched on her pastry, nobody commented on it.

They sat around the table, eventually settling into comfortable chatter, and enjoyed a proper breakfast accompanied by a wide assortment of teas. Afterwards, it was time for Sabine and Tom to say their goodbyes and officially open the bakery for the day. Chat made good on his promise to Ladybug and cleaned up after the meal, tidying up the kitchen and doing the dishes, with Marinette offering a helping hand to keep him company.

Afterwards, Marinette moved to the sofa and motioned for Chat to follow. He grinned widely and eagerly complied. The couple made themselves comfortable and resumed their friendly conversation.

“So, Ladybug stopped by to see you, huh?” Marinette asked, immediately noticing the way Chat’s cheekbones turned pink upon mentioning her alter ego. “What did she say? Other than asking my parents to let you stay here for a while.”

“I– she, uh... She just wanted to say hi and see how I was doing, and, um…” he stammered. “Like you said, she asked your parents if it would be okay for me to lay low at your house for a little bit. Then she mentioned she had an appointment and had to leave.”

“And… that’s it?” she asked.

Chat turned bright red at this point, his eyes wide and hands tightly gripping his knees. “P-pretty much.”

Marinette laboriously suppressed a wry smile, but decided to let him off the hook and stop making him wriggle nervously with her secret teasing. “I’m glad you guys got to see each other. And I’m relieved that you decided to stay.”

He smiled shyly. “I’m a bit shocked at how generous you all are, to be honest. N-not that it surprises me that you guys are so nice, of course; I already knew that,” he clarified. “But it’s just… it’s a huge favor to ask from anybody. Especially for nothing in return. I’d still like to pay you back somehow, but I’m not entirely sure how to do that.”

Marinette reached over and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay, Chat! You don’t have to do anything. Really! It’s just like a sleepover. Friends do sleepovers all the time!”

Chat twiddled his fingers nervously. “I, uh… I’ve actually never slept over at someone else’s house before. Not even Chlo– uh… not even my closest friends.”

Marinette made a small, thoughtful hum. “Well, thankfully we’ve got all day to prepare for the biggest, most amazing sleepover you could ever imagine! Starting with me kicking your butt in ‘Ultimate Mecha Strike 3’!”

Chat’s face lit up with an excited twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous smile that she couldn’t help but find utterly adorable. “Oh, we’ll see about that!”

They laughed freely and began setting up their game on the television.

As Marinette got the controllers out, Chat asked bashfully, “Umm, before we begin... do you happen to have any Camembert? For some reason, I’ve been craving it like crazy.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow. Camembert? That was… kind of an odd and rather specific request. Why Camembert, of all things?

Just then, a thought occurred to her. Since she was fairly certain that it wasn’t a pregnancy-related craving, she realized that that must be his kwami’s preferred food. Since Chat couldn’t detransform to feed him, the need for that extra energy must be manifesting itself through cravings.

Poor little guy is working so hard... He must be exhausted!

Making a mental note to stock up on all kinds of cheeses, she grinned at Chat with a cheeky wink.

“One cheese-fest, coming right up!”

#Miraculous Ladybug #Ladynoir #Marichat #Enemies AU #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Discordant Sonata #fanfiction #Eden writes #friend art

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rejectofsociety · 4 years

Text

I just thought I would post my BlackCat!MJ x Peter Parker one shot here, it’s also on Ao3. It’s kinda long.

And warning: Major Character Death

Hope you enjoy

Michelle often got the feeling that her boyfriend was hiding something from her. Maybe it was the so-called midnight walks he constantly took, or how he would run off and disappear without a trace whenever a siren went off. Did this concern her? Yes, constantly. Did she have any idea what he was hiding? Absolutely not. The only thing she did know was he wasn't cheating on her. How did she know this? She just did. Peter was loyal and they had been through hell and back together. There was no separating them. Even their jobs took place side-by-side within the Daily Bugle headquarters— Peter as a photographer and Michelle as a editor. Neither made a lot of money, as a result Michelle took on a night job which had provided them with enough money to buy their own home.

Michelle sat with her legs draped over Peter's lap and her arm around his neck as she littered his face with gentle kisses. He would connect their lips anytime hers wandered too close to his as his hand stroked her leg lovingly. They wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even themselves, but they truly needed each other. Every moment they had alone together, they would hold each other close until it was uncomfortable. Then, they'd adjust positions and hold each other a little longer.

"You know I could give you everything," Michelle said as she turned her head away from her boyfriend, "a bigger house, a nicer car, lots of money."

"MJ, you are my everything. I don't need a bigger house or whatever," Peter said as he rested his head on her chest.

"Hm, I just got the taste of cheddar in my mouth," Michelle replied.

"Oh shut up," Peter chuckled as she ran her hands through his hair.

Michelle smiled warmly at him and closed her eyes lightly. She felt him land a tender kiss on her collarbone, making her exhale a joyful sigh.

"Can you go back to kissing me?" Peter requested.

She barked a laugh, "ha! No, I don't think I will."

He looked up at her with pleading eyes, "please?"

"No," She replied and slid off his lap, "I'm hungry."

As she turned to leave, Peter stood up and rested his hand on her waist. He let a mischievous smirk spread across his lips as she lingered in his touch.

"I got something you could eat," Peter offered slyly.

"Ooo," Michelle purred, "I see how you wanna play."

"Only if you're up for it," he hummed.

"Tempting, but I haven't eaten all day."

Peter quickly let go of her and stepped back, "MJ! Please, eat!"

"What's in the fridge or..."

"What's in the fridge," Peter waved her off, earning a laugh in reply.

He shook his head at her then picked his camera off their coffee table. As she fished through the fridge, Peter sat on one of the barstools at the island positioned in the middle of the kitchen. He flipped open his laptop and popped the memory card out of his camera.

Michelle looked over her shoulder at him as he uploaded his photos onto the computer and smiled to herself. He was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to her, considering the fact that she never knew her father and her mother died when she was twelve. Even though she and Peter were hardly friends at the time, he still reached out to her and kept her company, making sure she was never alone unless she needed to be. That's when she realized she liked him. It may have taken a few years for him to return her affections but, when he finally did, it was everything she had hoped for and much more.

She wanted to marry him, she just needed a ring.

As she sat at the barstool next to his with a yogurt cup she had retrieved from the fridge, Michelle looked over Peter's shoulder and watched as he uploaded his photos onto the computer. He scrolled through countless photos of Spiderman, the Winder Soldier, Captain America (or the Falcon, at this point it hardly mattered), and more as he ignored several notifications for emails.

Spending time together never got old. Even when they argued, were too upset to speak, or one slapped the other across the face, they couldn't help but be happy to just be aground each other. Their arguments had grown less and less frequent over the years once they both started to realize a simple truth: they couldn't fight over every little thing that bothered them, their relationship couldn't survive like that. It may seem like an obvious solution, but Peter was pretty sloppy and had ADHD while Michelle had been very upright with OCD— not always the best combination when it came to living together. Especially when she'd spend an hour showing Peter how things had to be organized only to realized he had been staring and a bug on the ceiling the entire time. It took a while, but they managed through it and now it was just another day in the life.

"Don't you have an article to be editing?" Peter asked after a while, "or is staring over my shoulder a part of your job?"

"Oh yeah, it's the most important part," Michelle replied, hardly joking, "I even get paid."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm. Two kisses per hour."

"Hm, not good enough. Four an hour," Peter decided, craning his neck to look into her eyes, "I'll even pay upfront."

"Gimme," Michelle wrapped her arms around his neck eagerly.

Peter chuckled in response and sealed their lips in a sweet kiss.

———

Peter gazed at his girlfriend for a few beats as he stood in the doorway of their bedroom. Michelle looked like a goddess with the way she laid, her body draped gracefully across their bed. She needed a few hours of sleep before 11:30 struck and she was forced to drag her ass to her night job. Peter could be laying with her, but he had other matters to tend to.

Peter quietly paced across the room to her and leaned over, lightly brushing her cheek with his lips.

"I'm gonna go on a walk," Peter whispered by Michelle's ear.

"Do you ever sleep," Michelle murmured groggily in response.

"I'm an insomniac, you know that," Peter smiled softly as she lazily waved him off.

That much was true: insomnia was something he had struggled with since he lost his uncle. His lack of sleep was something that had only worsened as time dragged on. With the "Endgame" mixed with the death of Tony, Quentin and his illusions haunting Peter's dreams, and his aunt's passing just over a year later, rest was rare. Thankfully, was learning to live with it and could function almost as well as a normal person with eight hours of sleep.

Peter walked out of their house then retreated into the depths of the city. He turned a corner and ducked into an alleyway before reaching under a dumpster, flicking a small lever, and releasing his Spiderman suit from its compartment. Keeping his superhero life a secret from his girlfriend probably wasn't the healthiest thing for their relationship, but it was for her safety. If anything were to happen to Michelle, Peter couldn't live with himself. Fuck, he couldn't live. Loosing her would me the last straw, he was already on his last leg.

Now, one might wonder "what about Ned?" And Peter would reply with "Fuck Ned." Their friendship had come to an abrupt, harsh halt after a series of events and shouting matches neither cared to relive.

Then came the question "what about the Avengers?" Peter's answer: "what Avengers?" They weren't really a "thing" anymore. Bucky and Sam had remained close friends with Wanda playing the role of third-wheel/basically Bucky's unofficial daughter. Carol sometimes checked in but not very consistently, plus she was often occupied with her relationship with Valkyrie. And Valkyrie was occupied with being the king of New Asgard. Thor was who knows where and no one even knew if he was still alive. T'challa had no interest in being in a team, much less funding one. His sister, Shuri was someone Peter had always wanted to meet, but the stars had yet to align. The Guardians of the Galaxy hadn't spoken the heroes of earth since the "Endgame" and no one blamed them. Doctor Strange wanted nothing to do with Peter— nothing more needed to be said there. As for Rhodes, he had officially retired a year ago. The physical and mental wear had gotten the better of him, and (despite his hesitation) he stepped out of the suit for good. He and Peter were fairly close, so that's one person who would miss the young man if he were to die without Michelle.

There was Pepper and Morgan (who was now fourteen years old), but much to Peter's regret, he hadn't spoken to them since Tony's death. He really didn't have a reason anymore, but at first he simply couldn't bring himself to look into the eyes of a mini Tony. The wound of his mentor's loss was too fresh. But he wasn't the only one avoiding the gaze of a mini Tony. Pepper had a hard time looking at Peter for the same reason he couldn't look at her daughter. Because of this, the almost-family had lost contact. And when they finally did consider speaking, it seemed like it had been too long, like they hardly knew each other anymore.

What about Happy? Well, when May fell ill and died, so did Peter's friendship with Happy. They hadn't spoken since.

So Peter's isolation had been his own fault, and something he constantly regretted. But he had no will crawl back into the arms of what could have been a loving family. He had everything he could ever need with Michelle and sometimes Rhodes.

Peter, now dressed as Spiderman, perched on top of a billboard as he scanned his surroundings, "Karen, what time is it?" he asked.

"10:30. And if your sources are correct, there's a major sale of illegal weapons taking place in half an hour," Karen replied.

"Yep," Peter hooked his legs over the edge of the board and leaned back until he was hanging upside down, "and I should be able to wrap that up in time to see Black Cat."

"You seem to be quite fond of Black Cat," Karen observed.

"She's my only friend outside of MJ," Peter replied, "I mean, we're not friends friends. We just get along well and-"

"You refuse to do your job right when she's in the picture."

"Hey! That's not- who programmed you to say that?" Peter couldn't help but be offended by that, even if it was the truth.

"It was Rhodes’s idea," Karen answered, "who else's could it be?"

Peter chuckled, "no one I guess."

"Do you like Black Cat?"

"She's cool to hang out with. But if you're suggesting that I like like her, then calling you Artificial Intelligence would be a massive overstatement."

"I wasn't suggesting that," Karen somehow managed a defensive tone.

"Good," he replied shortly as he sat up right and readjusted his stance, "now let's get in position for this weapons sale."

"Would you like me to activate instant-kill?"

"NO! I thought I disabled that!"

"Well you didn't."

"I- ugh. Just stop it with the instant-kill."

He huffed and stepped off the billboard. Shooting a web to what his Spider-Sense told him was a safe platform, Peter launched himself through the cool, night air. As he glided through the city, he allowed himself to get lost in thought. He knew these streets all too well, swinging through the sky was as easy as breathing or walking. It wasn't something he had to think to hard about.

———

Michelle awoke abruptly to the Brooklyn Nine-Nine theme song blasting in her ear. She yelped in surprise and jolted upright, her hands frantically searching for her phone. Finally, her fingers brushed the cold box and she was able to shut off the alarm.

"Damn you, Peter," she hissed to her absent boyfriend, "that is the last time I let you pick my alarm."

Sighing and stretching sleep out of her body, Michelle tossed her phone onto her pillow then stood up. She unlocked and opened her suitcase and withdrew a skintight, black, leather suit. It covered everything below her collarbone and fit her perfectly.

After stripping down and redressing in the suit, she headed to the master bathroom and took out several makeup products plus a flowing, silver wig. For her night job, she went heavy on the makeup. She had to. She'd make her skin look a shade lighter (she hated doing that), her facial features would eventually appear narrower, then she'd tuck away her curls underneath her wavy wig. To top everything off, Michelle placed a sleek mask over her face. It didn't cover much, but it was mostly to distract anyone who might recognize her eyes. Sure she could use colored contacts, but those made her eyes itch and dry up. Besides, she liked her mask.

I'm going to propose to Peter, she thought to herself as she slipped out a window into the shadow of her neighbor's house. I just need a ring. That means jewelry-store-I-can't-remember-the-name-of— you are my first victim.

She carefully traveled in the shadows until she reached the depths of her city. She sprinted across roofs and leapt with the grace of a cat from one building to another. Normally I go easy on Mister Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, but if he tries stopping me from getting this engagement ring I will beat his ass to the ground.

Usually, she would think of engagement rings as a waste of money, and marriage as a social standard. But this was Peter fucking Parker she was talking about. In her mind, he deserved the world and the world didn't deserve him. He deserved a proper proposal with the perfect wedding (and how ever he defined a perfect wedding was up to him). She felt kind of gross with how much she loved Peter, no one had ever made her feel this way before. Everyone else she had been with was no more than a fleeting infatuation or a brief fling. Peter was her first boyfriend she had cared to be with for longer than a few weeks. He was the first one she actually loved to the point that thinking about not being with him made her feel physically ill.

Here we are: best place to get an engagement ring. She thought happily as she landed elegantly on top of the jewelry store she always forgot the name of. Thankfully, the store was closed so she didn't have to worry about running in to an employee. But, this store had one hell of a security system that wasn't easy to avoid. Unless you had a friend who worked their and you knew the store inside out. Like Michelle. She had stripped this store clean of jewels and diamonds several times; she knew exactly how to get in and out without getting caught.

It was really quite simple: there was one corner of the interior that the security cameras didn't glare down upon, from there she could duck behind a counter and slip into a utility closest where the electricity box was kept. Then, she would shut off the box, making her presence seem to be no more than an unfortunate power outage. An unfortunate power outage that would shut off their security system and result in jewelry stolen.

Michelle hummed to herself as she browsed the collecting of rings with her hands folded neatly behind her back. Despite the deep darkness, she could effortlessly make out each individual hoop and their little diamonds. Her eyes bore down into the gems as she paced back and forth, picking up a few random bracelets and necklaces to satisfy her twitchy, kleptomaniac urges. She decorated herself with emeralds and rubies, knowing she'd be selling each one later for much more than it was worth, as she waited for a ring to capture her attention.

"I figured I'd see you here," a voice spoke from behind her.

Michelle whirled around to see none other than Spiderman standing with his arms crossed, "not a good time, Spider," she hissed.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "never is. But either way, I can't let you steal all of that."

"But I look amazing in it," Michelle flipped her silver hair over her shoulder and jokingly posed like a model, "you can't tell me otherwise, and you know it."

"Mm, true," he unfolded his arms, "but you could at least pay for it."

Michelle swiftly snatched an elegant ring whose gleam had caught her eye and slipped it her finger through it, "let's get this over with."

She swiftly paced across the small store and roundhouse kicked the man in the side. Hardly budging from his sturdy stance, Spiderman snapped his hands around her ankle and rapidly slammed her onto the ground. Gasping in pain as all the air in her lungs was sucked out, Michelle found herself frozen and stunned.

"There, we got that over with," Spiderman stated smartly, "now, I should probably turn you in."

"Not today, Spider," she spat.

She hopped up and raked her claws against his rock hard abs then punched him in the stomach with full force. Spiderman groaned sharply as he keeled over, keeping one hand clasped tightly over the bleeding wound. Michelle smirked in satisfaction. She had cut a bit deeper than she had intended to, but she could live with that. Whether or not the spider could live with that was a different story.

Michelle smirked and knelt down to be eye level with the hero. Her smirking eyes bore into him as she rested on hand on his knee. She could practically feel his frustration radiating off him, and she could tell his pain forced his eyes to squeeze shut.

"See you later, Spider," she purred with her silky voice.

"Fuck you," he grunted.

"Thought you said you have a girlfriend," she smartly retorted then sank her claws into his leg, earning a cry of pain, "good luck getting home."

With that, she wiped his blood off her hand and onto his suit, then stood upright. Stalking past him, she silently begged him to get home safe and see his girlfriend so she could tend his wounds and they could hold each other tightly.

As Black Cat hurried into the darkness of the streets, Peter called after her one last comment, "I let you have this one!"

With a deep breath (as if breathing could wash away the pain), Peter stood up shakily and shot a web at his leg as it oozed crimson blood. The goop stung the open wound violently, but it was worth it to assist in closing the gash. He managed to spit another wad of webbing onto his stomach and hissed gingerly. I'll be fine in a few days, but I'm lucky she didn't cut any deeper.

Before he could sigh in disappointment at his failure, an alarm blared in the distance. Rushing out of the jewelry store with an evident limp, Peter hurried to rescue and capture the separate thief.

———

Michelle yawned and stretched as she sprawled out on a random roof, a satisfied smirk painting her lips. It was about one in the morning now, meaning she'd get to go home soon. For now, she just needed a little breather but in a few minutes, she'd be curled up in Peter's strong arms as he stroked her hair lovingly.

"Sold it all ready?" A hero spoke.

She sat up to gaze upon Spiderman who had noticed her lack of jewelry, "obviously."

Michelle pat the ground next to her and Spiderman gladly sat down next to her, "that ring you took... was that an engagement ring."

"Yep, sold that too," she held out her hand, showing that the ring was gone. But she didn't sell the ring, it was now safely hidden in her pocket.

"Ah. I figured," he smiled under his mask, "it made me think of my girlfriend," Michelle beamed warmly and crossed her legs, giving him her full attention, "I think I'm going to propose to her."

"You think?"

"Well, no," he chuckled and Michelle couldn't help but admire how fondly he spoke of the lucky lady, "I know I'm proposing. She deserves the world, and the world doesn't deserve her," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I just hope she says yes. Marriage isn't normally her thing, y'know?"

"I do now," Michelle chuckled, making the spider chortle quietly in response.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the sounds of the city. Cars quietly roaring across the road, the occasionally honk of a horn— even early in the morning, Queens, New York was a restless city.

Michelle looked over at her spider friend as curiosity struck her bones, "hey, Spider?"

"Hm?"

"I know basically everything about you."

"Well, yeah. We've known each other for years."

"Yeah, but there's one more thing I wanna know."

"What's that?"

"What do you look like? Like... can you take your mask off for me?"

Spiderman hesitated then choked out an anxious laugh, "you really wanna see that ugly-ass mess?"

She tilted her head to the side and nodded, "yeah. I'm sure you're not that bad."

He groaned, "ugh, I am."

"Well at least I'm prepared now," she gave a lopsided smile, "c'mon, I don't judge."

He took a deep breath, calming his jittery nerves, "alright, although I feel like this isn't a good idea."

"Show me your ugly face and I'll show you mine," she offered then flipped her hair with enough sass for the spider to touch, "actually my face is pretty hot, but you know what I mean."

"Wish I had your confidence," Spiderman laughed then gripped the edge of his mask.

The two went dead silent and Michelle squirmed with anticipation. Her heart fluttered in excitement while his palpitated in anxiety. He carefully peeled the mask off his face, letting his matted hair spring free.

The moment her eyes absorbed his soft features, Michelle's heart stopped in its tracks. She swallowed thickly and felt her lungs constrict violently as she recognized the young man before her.

She opened her mouth to choke out "Peter?" yet no sound came out. Peter looked away in embarrassment and fidgeted with the mask in his hands. I've been dating Spiderman for ten fucking years.... Michelle tried desperately to understand her situation as dismay rest heavy in her chest. Betrayal and fury towards Peter keeping such a secret flared up inside her. She clenched her fists, and for a brief moment she had the undeniable urge to slit his throat and end his life.

"So," Peter sheepishly spoke, defusing Michelle's violent instinct, "can I-"

He was interrupted by yelling and a cry for help in the distance, "I need to take care of that."

She opened her mouth to speak yet no words came out. Slightly embarrassed by her silence, Peter put his mask back on and turned around. Michelle watched him swing away until he was out of sight. Then, she ran like hell.

———

After sloppily washing away her makeup, removing the wig, and throwing the suit on the ground, Michelle collapsed onto her bed with her heart racing and tears threatening to fall. She had no idea what emotions or thoughts were racing through her confused mind.

"What is happening, what is happening, what just happened!" She rambled to herself.

Her heart was racing in panic as she raked her hands through her disheveled hair. But before she could be thrown into a panic attack, a quiet ding announced a new text and she scooped her phone into her hands.

Silver Sable: hey kitty, just got a job and I think you can do it for me

Michelle: not a good time

Silver Sable: please? It'll be a piece of cake

Michelle: What is it?

Silver Sable: Kill Spiderman

Michelle clapped her hand over her mouth and choked back a strangled cry of despair. Silver Sable was not only her closest friend (save Peter), but an anti-hero/villain-assassin-fore-hire badass that Michelle admired in every way. Turning her down was never an easy task.

Michelle: No

Silver Sable: oh c'mon. Don't be like that! I know you guys are friends but this is for a shit load of money. You can keep half of it

Michelle: I can't

Silver Sable: fine. 75% of the bounty

Silver Sable: Just think about how many times he's fucked us up or fucked up our colleagues. How much better our lives are going to be without him!

Michelle: Horrible! He's my boyfriend!

Silver Sable: Perfect! That'll make killing him even easier

Michelle: No! I'm not killing him and neither are you

Silver Sable: are you seriously choosing the life of some long-term booty call you had a crush on in high school over the lives of your best friends, colleagues, and family when you had none, PLUS your career and everything you've worked for your entire life?

Silver Sable: I thought you were better than that

Michelle: ...

"Who're you texting," Peter asked as he walked into their room.

Michelle's entire body jolted and she dropped her phone into her lap, "Jake from State Farm."

"None of my business," Peter smiled tiredly as he sat next to her, "my bad."

She briefly flashed a wavering simper yet found herself unable to make eye contact with her boyfriend who she wanted to desperately to marry just that morning. Now, she was unsure.

As she lay in Peter's arms with her eyes closed lightly, she couldn't shake off Silver Sable's words. Eventually, Peter's protective touch and comforting warmth had Michelle drifting off into an unsettled sleep while his exhausted, insomniac eyes remained gazing down at her body. Just like everyday at two in the morning when Michelle was fast asleep while rest rejected Peter's body, the young man found himself thanking the universe for the perfectly imperfect woman laying in his arms. Thank you for her, he praised nobody in particular, she's the best thing that's ever happened to me.

———

The next day, it was about nine in the evening and Michelle had just finished making dinner for herself and Peter. She had hardly spoken all day and as much as Peter worried, he learned over the years that when she got like this, it was best to leave her alone. She was most likely upset about something and she would confide in him when they lay in bed together in a few hours. For now, he'd merely smile his heartwarming grin, and hold her tightly every chance he got.

What Peter didn't know (aside from his girlfriend being a thief) was Michelle had been feeling sick to her stomach all day. Whether it was a stomach bug or the guilt that had been weighing on her all day, she had no idea. Either way, her mind hadn't wandered from the night before. There was too much for her to absorb calmly: her boyfriend was Spiderman, they were enemies, and he wanted to propose. And she wanted to propose. And Silver wanted her to kill him.

Michelle finished plating their meals, set the dishes on a counter, then turned around to grab silverware from a drawer. Peter stood up from his seat at their tiny table then grabbed the plates from the counter and set them on the table nearby.

"The one on the left it yours," Michelle spoke, suddenly and shortly.

Peter knit his brow but nodded anyways, "as you wish."

Dinner was silent and tense. Michelle's mind was racing as she watched Peter with every bite he took. Peter pretended not to notice her stare, although it made him mildly uncomfortable. It was like she was preying on him, waiting for something to happen but he didn't know what. How could he know when she had said roughly four sentences all day?

Michelle forced her last bite of steak down her throat then set her plate off to the side. Peter looked into her foggy eyes and frowned worriedly.

"You look pale," Peter observed as he reached across the table and held her hands tenderly.

Michelle glanced at him and stood up, "I need some fresh air."

Peter mimicked her motions and nodded, "let's go for a walk then."

She nodded stiffly and slid her hand into Peter's as they walked out the door with their coats. The sky was already dark, seeing as the sun had set hours ago. The night air was brisk and refreshing against their tense skin. Peter held Michelle's paw tightly with one hand while the other fidgeted anxiously with the ring in his pocket. It was his aunt's ring and she had left it behind for when Peter found the "right one." And Michelle was, without a doubt, the "right one."

Little did he know, Michelle's free hand was fidgeting with a ring as well. The one he had tried to stop her from steeling the night before. However, she felt like she should wait to use it. Maybe save it for tomorrow. Maybe the day after. Maybe never.

Suddenly, Peter stopped in his tracks. He was pale as the moon that shone through the clouds that fogged its view of the earth below. Michelle paused and looked down at him; he was trembling like an aspen leaf in the wind.

This is it, Michelle thought as she took a deep breath.

His legs gave out and he keeled over on one knee, his eyes wide and glassy, "M-Michelle..."

It's finally happening.

His gasped and coughed violently, crimson blood spurting from his lips. Michelle could only stare down at him as his expression twisted into one of terror and agony.

No turning back.

Pain lit up inside Peter like fireworks light up the night sky as he grit his teeth and shut his eyes tightly. He collapsed on all fours and choked for breath, only to be stopped by the blood pooling in his throat and oozed out from his parted lips. Tears trickled down his cheeks as Michelle knelt down. She knew she couldn't help him, but she could at least stroke his cheek lovingly as he writhed in pain. She gnawed on her lower lip until it bled too stop herself from breaking in to uncontrolled sobs.

Seeing Peter groaning and crying in pain as he choked on his own blood was almost too much for her to bare. Her stomach twisted into tight knots and she vision blurred with salty tears. She gathered him in her arms and let him gasp her sleeves and jeans, his blood dripping from the corners of his mouth to stain her shirt.

"Peter Parker," she spoke, her voice trembling and cracking, "I love you. I love you so, so much I can't even explain it. I can just feel it. I can physically feel it. A-and I am so sorry."

She clutched his body tightly, begging for his pain to end as she buried her face in the side of his neck. She felt his panicked pulse against her cheek as he cried out on last time, letting out all of the air and life in his lungs. Peter's body froze for a moment, tense and seeming almost unsure of death, then he relaxed completely. Michelle held his corpse tightly as she sobbed, her entire body shaking. She kissed his neck over and over as its warmth disappeared like the ghost he now was.

"I didn't wanna do this," she cried, her voice tight with despair.

She wailed and screamed into the night, teardrops streaming down her cheeks like rivers.

———

"So," Silver Sable purred silkily, "did you do it?"

Michelle, her cheeks red and eyes puffy, sat down at the barstool next to her friend. For a few beats, she couldn't find her voice so she stared at the bar around her. There were only a handful of people there, plus the two bartenders.

Finally, she nodded slowly, "yes," her volume hardly matched that of a whisperer.

Silver beamed proudly and pat her back with her powerful hand, producing a hallow thump, thump, "well done, Kitty! I'll need to show my employer his body— where's it at?"

"It's at my house," she murmured hoarsely, "we can stop by later."

"I'm so proud of you!" Silver squealed, "I'm so glad he's gone! Aren't you?"

Michelle swallowed thickly and stared at the counter in front of her. Eventually, she managed to shake her head 'no.' She was still trying to process what she had just done. She was so unfathomably empty, it was like she had gotten her soul and happiness sucked out of her body. And in a way, she had.

"Don't be like that, Kitty," Silver nudged her playfully.

"But... I loved him," Michelle managed weakly.

"You'll get over it soon enough," the assassin rolled her eyes, "let's start with a round of drinks. Y'know, to celebrate."

"Ah yes," Michelle heaved a sigh, "let us celebrate the long-awaited death of... of my spider."

Silver suspired as she shook off her excitement to recognize her friend's despair, "come here, Kitty," she wrapped her arm around Michelle and pulled her close, "you're the toughest chick I've ever met. You'll get through this."

Michelle stayed quiet. Her words were far from adequate, but that was about as sincere as Silver got. The metallic scent of death mixed with Peter's coffee-and-bagel scent was still lingering on her clothing. It filled her nose and clouded her mind until all she saw was the whiskey glass that had just been placed in front of her. I just ruined my own life, huh?

"Trust me," Silver reached for her glass, "you did the right thing."

#blackcat!mj #mj #michelle jones #peter parker #spiderman #black cat #spideychelle #petermj #angst #peter parker angst #major character death #fanfic #👀

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

Photo

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Midge!

You have been accepted for the role of ANDROMEDA TONKS with the faceclaim change of Gemma Arterton! We really enjoyed how the old prejudices come out with your Andromeda, all while trying to combat them. We think it’ll be really interesting to see how she fits within her role in the Order, especially since she’ll be connected to old family. So excited to have you as part of the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Midge ( she / her )

AGE: 28

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: It’s pretty solid - I am generally around to plot on mobile throughout the day and while my job can be very demanding at certain times of the year, I still am able to post a few times a week.

ANYTHING ELSE: ( Triggers ) Rape, incest. [edited for clarity]

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Andromeda Cassiopeia Tonks ( nee Black )

AGE: Twenty-nine

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: CIS Female ( she / her ). Heterosexual. While Bi-Curious, Andromeda has never explored her sexuality fully.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

ANY CHANGES: I would love to use Gemma Arterton, if possible!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: Scorpio ( Sun ). Scorpio ( Moon ). Taurus ( Rising ).

A sun in Scorpio and ascendant in Taurus, Andromeda does often find difficulty understanding how she is perceived by others. In a position where rubbing people the wrong way was never much of a worry of hers, she often presents herself as materialistic and overly self-involved. While materialism is something she is mindful of ( finding comfort through her means being something she does strive towards ), this is not her driving force.

Her Sun being in Scorpio means she has a fundamental urge to get to the bottom of things, which can at times lead her to be manipulative or power-hungry, but it is from a place of intense passion for authenticity, real intimacy, and the truth. Andromeda is driven to set herself apart from others, often through her close relationships and long-term partnerships. Her desire for marriage was not only born out of a moment of heated vitriol to her family, but also in the pursuit of sustaining the connection she felt with Ted in the most lasting manner she could think.

Her Moon represents her emotional self: intense, passionate, and a bit dramatic. With an eye for a bit of a show, she still is inclined to keep her more intense and darker emotions private and has a hard time truly letting people in. Trust is hard-fought with her, and while she is very perceptive this sometimes manifests in suspicion and even controlling tendencies. The through-line of Andromeda’s personality is that she craves intimacy, and while it takes effort to get to the core of her it is upon being truly known she finds herself most fulfilled.

Dromeda is extremely practical, she is reliable and deliberate, giving off the impression of someone who is sensible ( though sometimes, extremely, stubborn ). Through her insightful intuition, Andromeda excels not only in her career but her obsessive tendencies make for someone who can build out a life for herself. She avoids “ beating around the bush ” where she can, and as a result can come off as harsh or intrusive. Being as intuitive to others as she is, she also heavily relies on communicating through body language or if the relationship allows, physical affection.

Ultimately, Andromeda can be very internal even when present with her own deeply intuitive and feeling self. Run through with a stubborn nature and desire to use her mental capacities to achieve her own personally set goals, she is ultimately a loving and devoted person to those she allows past the moments of discernment. As a result she’s always very aware of any who come into those people’s lives, utilizing her scrupulous nature to ensure that what she holds dear remains safely guarded.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: ( TW: Mention of child death )

It is their cousin who tells them his sister died.

Not much older than Cissa, Iris died before she could even get a place on the family tree. Aunt Lavinia sits by a window and while her eyes are transfixed on the glass, Andromeda somehow knows she is not looking at anything that is outside. The house is quiet, save for Evan occasionally tugging at the cat’s tail just to hear it hiss. Normally Dromeda would tell him to stop, normally she would start pulling his hair so he could understand how it felt. But normally he did not have a dead sister so she sits with her hands politely folded in her lap.

In any case, she has a question to ask.

" Why? "

" How? "

The second question comes rushing from Bella.

They do not receive any answer right away, a pinch from Mother and a look from Father bars any more words from leaving their lips the rest of the visit. They get their answer at home before bed, Mother and Father sits them down in front of a window. Aunt Lavinia’s eyes must still be looking at but not out the window in her own home, Dromeda thinks while her too-wide and observant eyes strain to study Mother’s face.

As usual, it comes back to those creatures called Muggles. The same who burn witches and wizards alive, the same who beat Andromeda’s relatives and stoned them to death. Those evil beings who destroy everything and made Wizard-kind ashamed of their powers. Mother tells Bellatrix and herself of a new heinous act. They sneak into nurseries of the most innocent babies with their special, magical blood and pierce their soft, sweet skin with their teeth. They drink and drink until the baby stops breathing. They take all that is special from the child to pass on to their own offspring, to make those mudbloods look and speak as they do. They do it to infiltrate, to feed on more, to destroy every bit of goodness in the world.

( Aunt Lavinia’s baby is dead because of muggles - she was killed by a greedy, horrid monster. )

Mother tells her to stop clutching at her as she walks her back to her bedroom. She does her best, straightens her back and balls a small fist at her side - she stops holding Mother’s hand and instead tries to hold her own. It does nothing to stop her heart from racing. Once in bed, she counts the footsteps of Mother’s graceful stride until she knows she is alone. Until she knows she can move from her bed without being punished. Andromeda's less-than-graceful feet fumble from sheets and scramble to the ground. Frantic steps carry her toward the nursery. The door is cracked, and that is concerning.

It takes all of her courage to push through.

She expects to find a horned creature with long fangs hovering over her sister’s crib - instead she finds Bella laying on the floor beside it. With only a look exchanged in recognition, Andie joins her and is comforted in the thought Bella does not mind when she holds her hand. No matter how hard she squeezes.

Without any words the two sisters resolve themselves to be the protectors of the youngest from those who would wish to prey on her.

This memory begins to dull at age eleven. She watches a boy from across the Great Hall with mild curiosity, and his whole body moves as he laughs.

“Filthy mudblood,” is sneered from somewhere down the table. Instinctively, Andromeda reaches for Bellatrix’s hand.

( How odd, she thinks as she spots him later, he doesn’t seem to have fangs at all. )

She’s thirteen by the time they are formally introduced, her upbringing does not allow for her to be anything less than polite. At least, this is what she tells herself as she engages in conversation. He tells him his name is Ted and Andromeda spends the night thinking of how it felt when they clasped hands.

They talk, confined by isolated areas and the moonlight. Out of shame at first, perhaps. But there are some things Andromeda comes to find she only wants the moon sharing with her, with him.

Later ( in secret, away from her sisters’ prying eyes ), she’ll trace the veins in his wrist and she thinks she can feel the blood beneath begin to warm. How could it be thick, how could it be muddy - she thinks. His blood, and a burgeoning feeling becoming increasingly harder to ignore is as pure as anything she’s ever touched. Soft and warm when she’s nestled beside his beating heart, soft and warm even when she’s not.

( He’s not dirty, she thinks. Her family might be the one that is wrong. )

She’s lost to them long before they realize, long before she herself has accepted the truth. Ted holds one half of her, she believes, reserving some part that has listened to the lessons taught by her parents. Bellatrix’s infatuation of her own dalliance grows, a man who is allowed to eat at their table and handled their most prized heirlooms. He is the one who is unworthy, he is the one who poses the greater threat to everything important. ( There are bigger problems, she reasons, than a simple affair. )

Pregnancy brings on horrid morning sickness, and a slap that rings in her ear to this day, if she listens closely enough. “ Dead to us, ” they say. But offer a gift in the wake. As she spills out into the night air she finds herself gasping, as though she had resurfaced, as though she has just been saved from a watery grave.

( She stops by Cissa’s room, hoping to salvage at least one piece ).

Years of playing protector, vanquisher of the monsters under the bed, come full circle on her own. Nymphadora is born without the usual pomp and circumstance she has known in such occasions, but love pours from her quickly enraptured by strong lungs unabashedly wailing into the night air. Born able to achieve whatever she would like. That’s what she tells her, whispered promises like the exchange of vows shared with Ted before.

( She tries to ignore the Daily Prophet’s proclamations of anything else ).

A life is built, with difficulty and with trial and error ( how was she to know washing machines were to work like that? ) She is happy, she thinks, after years of being told such pursuits are foolish or secondary. She can protect them, she can keep them just isolated enough to not call any attention their way. There’s an effort to bring them closer to the fold but Andromeda balks at such a concept. ( Albus Dumbledore can not be trusted, she implores. Men with such power rarely care for their pawns at play ).

And still the part of her remains. The way certain light catches and she can feel those around her stiffen ( She looks so much like her, doesn’t she? ) The part of her which sharpened fangs in duels with Bellatrix left idly twiddling her fingers. It’s relentless, the tide. All the reasons why her job suits her. All the best, she thinks, to keep some things separate.

( She was told, once, about the myth behind her name. The Chained Woman. Andromeda was never asked her opinion, or so it’s said. Perhaps she only knew better to keep it to herself. )

OCCUPATION:

Unspeakable in the Ministry of Magic. A niche for ancient artifacts and interest in history allows for her attention to be drawn to the mysteries that keep magic interesting. Andromeda enjoys her job, finding it satisfying an itch she oftentimes could feel ashamed of ( if she spent much time thinking about what compels her, that is ). It is with the understanding of the level of access such a position has given her that she found herself acting as informant to the Order in the first place, and not necessarily because she felt any good will towards the movement of radicals. Andromeda isn’t compelled to trust the Ministry, exactly, nor is she inclined to leave her trust with men recruiting children to war. Her loyalty has always been a closed circle, stuck to a desire to move forward and a need to provide for her family.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Andromeda is more inclined to believe that the Ministry and actual authority would have the means to bring about the end of the war, but with the shift of tide she understands that such measures are a necessary evil. For however far removed she has been from the Black Family Tapestry for the time she’s been married, Andromeda still remembers what it was like to host Voldemort for dinner parties as Bellatrix’s obsession for him grew. She is of a unique group who understood what was happening long before the Daily Prophet began their war correspondence.

That being said, Andromeda also knows of the ambition of man in general. Whispers of a vigilante group were met with indifference at first, she was ( perhaps misguidedly ) indignant at the idea of a select few taking matters into their own hands, let alone the rumors that some were being recruited right out of school? Her opinion on the group as a whole has only slightly softened since a few loved ones got involved, most notably Sirius and now Ted. Accepting the reality of the threat they are faced with comes with the ( somewhat begrudging ) acceptance compromises must be made.

SURVIVAL:

To put it bluntly, survival is everything to Andromeda. Above all else she is a true Slytherin and will do whatever it takes to survive, the caveat being that this extends to her family. Andromeda, though certainly affected by her upbringing in prejudice and violent bigotry, has not been indoctrinated in the same way. However, a certain edge to her allows for more than a few people to draw the direct line of understanding she is cut of the same cloth as Bellatrix Lestrange. While Bella found herself perverted past recognition to her devotion to the cause and her “master”, Andromeda made conscientious decisions to be as self-possessed as possible. This includes a willingness to play coy with the war effort that stands to protect her way of life.

Because, and this is very important, Andromeda thinks herself above it. She does not always draw a direct correlation to the suffering of others to what could become of her, because in Andromeda’s mind she will simply not allow it to happen. She knows she will be ruthless when it comes down to it, and tries to maintain a certain amount of plausible deniability when it comes to moments in which she is directly associated with the war.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Ted is, above everything else, the love of her life. She would have moved them to another country if she had her way but they settled on a cottage by the coast. They have fundamental disagreements and while there are times when he is met with exasperation on her end Andromeda has always liked the challenge he presented to her. A certain recklessness to give himself over to a cause rather than be content with the life they have stolen away offers a host of issues she would rather avoid; and it is in part due to this reasoning she doesn’t always share her own passing along of details. Ultimately, however, everything Dromeda does is for Ted, for their family.

Andromeda carries with her an adolescence of her family’s social engineering, which means she has connections in various places ( some she isn’t the quickest to acknowledge ). I think she finds herself drawn to the other members of her family who have been disowned, or even the women around her year who she recognized herself in. Which is to say nothing of the particular status she has achieved as an Unspeakable. Indifferent to status ( possibly as a result of it always being given to her ), Drom certainly knows how to use it.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I am a huge sucker for Tedromeda, to be perfectly honest. But at the end of the day I will write with wherever there is chemistry and am always looking for fun avenues to explore!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?:

There is a lifetime of prejudice which Andromeda needs to consistently unpack and confront ( and, as is the way of someone who grew up as incredibly privileged as she did, she is not always willing to do the work ). In many ways, hers is the story of triumph of love over the built-in bigotry that poisoned her home. In practice, it is much trickier. For as much as Andromeda knows what her family is now, there are still fond memories she holds dear. For all the horrors she knows that have been perpetrated in the name of purity, she often finds herself subject to the conditioning she was raised on.

Andromeda was taught, young and often, through the various state-sanctioned ( and family approved ) propaganda pieces to fear and resent anything that would be seen to be an outside, infiltrating force. She does attempt to give her daughter a more objective education of the world around them, though this is made increasingly difficult with the way the war seems to be going. Fear does things to people, she knows more than most, but there is a lack of malice in her heart.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?:

Honestly, I’ve been keeping my eye on this roleplay for some time and the stars just aligned in terms of my schedule opening up and a role that I wanted to play around with! Andromeda is fascinating to me because of all her contradictions, as well as a major resistance to actively take part in a war which she could potentially play a role in. I think the natural tension between her and former family members could also lead to a very interesting dynamic as we move forward!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I am open to going with the flow and love organically plotting, but I think Andromeda’s position at the Ministry / her being an informant to the Order could really challenge her laissez faire attitude when it comes to the war in general. Along with the building tension she has in her own home, and her desire to keep her family safe above anything else, it would be interesting to explore the boiling point of where that all comes to a head. Passivity has no place when she has a husband actively partaking in the war effort, and when the outcome could potentially call into question his safety she might have to fully establish herself as a combatant against what she was raised in.

ANYTHING ELSE? I don’t think so!

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rpg #hp rpg #marauders rp #marauders rpg

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jemej3m · 5 years

Text

leisuring

directly caused by by @mini-minish‘s andrew in jenna marble’s leisuring suit, i present to you this:

a stupid short fic where andrew is jenna and neil is julien

(based loosely on her videos i want to be tall, i try hot glue crafts, cooking vegan thanksgiving food, giving my boyfriend acrylic nails and how many balloons does it take to lift my dog off the floor and maybe a few others)

Andrew frowned at the video. He almost ignored it: He ignored a lot of things on the internet, except for the video suggestions that truly stuck with him. And Neil’s texts.

Even then, sometimes he found himself so lost that spiral that was the internet that even Neil didn’t draw him out.

He’d seen shit like this all over the place already: Shane Dawson, all those pathetic beauty gurus, where edits brought their best (worst?) moments all together for a ten minute long shitshow.

And here was Andrew’s ten minute long shit show. Appropriately titled “andrew and neil annoying each other for ten minutes straight”, it was posted by some random person. Nicko. Weird.

Andrew almost didn’t click on it. Almost.

Then he did, and it unfolded like this:

“Andrew,” Neil said, exasperated. “What are you doing.”

Andrew was sat in a dark corner of the house, playing the electronic keyboard. It had a choral overlay, like a church choir was humming along to him. He said: “I want to be tall.”

Neil snorted. “Neither of us have grown since sixth grade.”

He played another chord. “I want to grow a whole eight inches, Neil.”

Neil arched an eyebrow, holding the camera in front of his chest. Andrew looked up at him instead. “You want to grow a whole eight inches.”

“Then I will be average height.” He played his third and final chord. “I want to be tall.”

Neil sighed. “Fine. Come on.”

cut screen

[andrew and neil annoying each other for ten minutes straight]

“Neil.” Andrew leaned into the study, where Neil was curled into a ball with a hood drawn over his head. He probably had woken up at six-am to go for a jog and hadn’t bothered to shower since, considering Neil was disgusting and nothing Andrew did would ever change that.

Neil looked up from the computer screen and immediately frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

Andrew thought he was looking pretty dead-pan. Fuck Neil for being able to see right through him. “How would you feel - ”

Neil put his head in his hands. “Give me the sweet release of death already.”

“- about me giving you a full set of acrylic nails.”

Neil’s head dropped to the desktop with a loud bang.

“Neil.” Andrew snapped. “Neil. Quit that. You’re making a mess.”

“It’s fine.” Neil grinned, flipping a glass bowl and snatching it mid-air with his hand. The camera zoomed into Andrew’s eye twitching, every time Neil threw and caught that infernal bowl. “It’s fine. What’s wrong? Everything’s fine.”

“I fucking hate you.” Andrew growled.

“How many times did we have to go back to Party City to get these balloons?” Andrew wondered aloud.

“Six times.” Neil informed him, looking at how his cat (Sir, not King - King was way too hyperactive) was relaxing about three metres above the ground. She was suspended with seventy-two helium balloons, because Andrew wanted to know how many balloons it took to lift their small cat.

“She’s sleeping, ‘Drew.” Neil murmured grinning behind his hand. “Oh my god, she’s so relaxed. She’s sleeping.”

“It’s because King can’t reach her, and thus, can’t taunt her or wake her up.” Andrew looked at the dozens of balloons that now filled their living room with satisfaction. “It’ll be her safe space.”

Neil slung his arm around Andrew’s shoulders, still filming as their cat spun meaninglessly through the air.

“Ow!” Neil hissed, inspecting his now inch-and-a-half long acrylic nails. “Ow. What the fuck. What the fuck!”

“Calm down.” Andrew berated him, finishing the acrylic on his second last nail. “You’re being a wuss.”

“I want these off, now.” Neil moaned.

“Well, I don’t have pure acetone, so we’ll see if we can get them off at all.”

“Wait, what?” Neil yelped, glaring at Andrew. He widened his eyes. “What?”

“I’m going to give you a Brazilian Blowout.” Andrew menacingly waved his hairdryer around. “You’ll look like you’re compensating for a lack of an emo-phase in your teenage years.”

Neil grinned up at him from where he was sitting. “You never moved on from that phase, did you?”

Andrew almost stabbed him with the hairbrush. “I’m compensating for you.”

Neil settled into the chair. “Do what you want. Just don’t bring the FBI running.”

Andrew snorted.

Andrew walked out from the corridor in eight-inch heels, hair sprayed upright.

“Oh, damn.” Neil said, softly, looking at the leather boots and purple trousers that were tight around his thighs.

“Keep it in your pants, Josten.” Andrew said snipily. “Eyes are up here.”

“Don’t worry,” Neil grinned, craning his neck up to look at him. “That orange jacket is really turning me off.”

Andrew stared dead into the camera with a hat made out of hot glue to his head. The camera zoomed in. He slowly help up a different piece of hot glue.

“See, Five-Minute-Crafts? I can create random shit out of hot glue, too.”

It read fuck you.

“Neil, that’s too much cinnamon.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Neil.”

“Yes?”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I’m angry.” Andrew said.

“Well, no shit.” Neil remarked. “You just spent six hours making a chair out of jeans, with nothing but staples to put it together.” He threaded his fingers through Andrew’s hair as his boyfriend looked up at him in misery. “It’s completely rational.”

“Should we bring her down?” Neil whispered. Sir hadn’t woken up from where she was napping, mid-air.

“Why are you whispering.” Andrew said flatly.

“She’s asleep. Don’t wanna be rude.”

“It’s a cat floating in midair. Somehow, I don’t think it cares.”

Andrew slowly turned his face towards Neil as he glittered with rhinestones. He’d never felt more itchy in his life, and he’d put on a hundred layers of fake eyelashes once.

“Pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass,” Andrew winked at him and Neil grinned. “Smash.”

Neil stabbed a banana with his terrifyingly long nails and grinned at Andrew as disgusting banana goop got stuck under his nails. Andrew wanted to retch.

Then he bent down and tried to feed it from the cats, and Andrew hated his boyfriend so much.

“Are you satisfied, now?” Neil looked up at Andrew, who was a little unsteady in these eight-inch boots. His head hurt with the amount of hairspray they’d used to stand his hair up, even though his hair wasn’t even that long.

“This is now my permanent state.” Andrew replied.

Neil rolled his eyes.

“Guess who’s man isn’t here to be the idiot?” Andrew pointed at himself. “My man. Guess who’s going to compensate for Neil’s idiocy by dyeing his hair bright red?” He pointed at himself. “This bitch.”

“Neil.” Andrew said, voice on the absolute edge of losing it. Neil fucking threw a piece of cannoli dough into the deep fryer, getting hot oil everywhere. “If you’re going to go and be a tornado all through the kitchen, then fucking tornado your way out to the living room.”

Neil coughed in his ear on purpose, and Andrew grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Aw,” Neil was laughing too hard to be taking Andrew serious. “You’re no fun!”

Andrew shoved him onto the couch. “Stay there till the deep fryer is off.”

Andrew gazed out the window. “The sun has set since I started doing this.” He then turned, gazing straight into the camera. “The sun’s setting on the opportunity for me to do something with my life.

Sir lazed on the chair that Andrew sat beside, reading out the mean comments that the internet had spared her. She was the ‘dead’ one, an old cat who barely moved or even blinked, whilst King was the more challenged one, to say the least.

“Oh, look.” Andrew said icily. “It’s a comment from Allison Reynolds herself. Keep talking up your cats, Reynolds. We all know they can’t manage anything more than purely aesthetic function, just like yourself.”

Neil whistled lowly. “Not sure your best friend would appreciate you calling her girlfriend a trophy wife.”

“Is that not what Reynolds is?” Andrew snorted. “My mistake.”

Neil made kissy noises. “You lookin’ like a snack.”

Andrew brandished a kitchen knife. “Say that again, I dare you.”

Neil just grinned and mouthed love you.

cut screen

[thx for watching]

Andrew slapped his laptop closed.

“Neil,” He called over his shoulder. “I’m quitting Youtube.”

His boyfriend leaned over the back of the couch to loop his arms around Andrew’s shoulders and press kisses to his cheeks. “Uhuh. Because I’ve never heard you say that before.”

Andrew grumbled, grabbing Neil by the arms and throwing him over the back of the couch. He partially landed in Andrew’s lap.

“I’ve been jiu-jitsed!” Neil rolled off the couch with a melodramatic thud. “It’s all over. Tell my father I love him!”

“He’s dead and you hate him.” Andrew said flatly. Neil grinned up at him.

“You know me so well.” He sunk into the couch beside Andrew, curling into a ball against his side. “Will you show me this video of us?”

Andrew sighed, opening his laptop. He let himself droop his head down to Neil’s shoulder, somewhat nuzzling into the familiar scent of his shirt.

He’d quit another day.

thx for readin lmao

#andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #youtube au #jenna and julien au #all for the game #jem writes

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writteninsunshine · 4 years

Text

Maybe It’s Better Off This Way - Luxord/Roxas - SFW

Title: Maybe It's Better Off This Way

Author: Donnie

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Setting: The Castle That Never Was

Pairing: Luxord/Roxas

Characters: Luxord/Roxas

Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1127

Type Of Work: One-Shot

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Kissing, Age Gaps, Roxas is 18, Luxord is 34, Disassociation, Mental Health, Reasons To Live

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Roxas doesn’t know if there’s a difference between him and a Shadow. Luxord might make the difference glaringly obvious.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have Twitter and Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD I can PM it to people who want it on FFN, for everyone else, it’s here: https://discord.gg/FyaWw25

Until they admit that they enjoy each other’s company, Luxord’s parts were written by my husband, and I edited them. This was based on an RP that we did. I really wanted to write this, and honestly, I had a lot of fun with it, and it’s really therapeutic to write them for me. I hope you guys enjoy it! This is basically the beginning of their relationship for my other fics for this ship.

Kingdom Hearts Fic Masterlist

Maybe It's Better Off This Way

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roxas sat atop the tallest tower he dared to, staring down at the endless void of heartless at the base, his eyes hollow and mind blank. He was thinking, he was sure of that, but he didn't know of what. His eyes could catch the glimmer of movement of the Shadows, but he wasn't tracking anything, just staring with his hands in his lap.

The tapping of boots along the concrete slab he sat on sounded behind him before there was a soft sigh, and the sound of leather stretching. A familiar blond sat beside him, eyeing Roxas carefully before he thought to try on some words.

“Hey,” Luxord began, not sure if Roxas would even hear him like this.

"Hey." Roxas’ voice didn't quite sound right, and the smaller blond slowly shook his head, glancing over at the other. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah... I was wondering how you're doing..? You've been gone for a while..."

"...Have I?" Roxas asked, blinking, and looking up at Luxord’s pretty, concerned blue eyes, "I didn't notice."

"I thought so... So I came to check on you and see how you're doing." Luxord’s tone was quiet, gentle, welcoming.

"I'm okay." Was he, though? "Just... Thinking." And staring at the bottom like it would be a reprieve.

"What are you thinking of?"

Roxas went quiet. He didn't really know. "Stuff."

Luxord paused for a moment before responding again, "Is any of that stuff life-threatening for you?"

"I... I don't know." Roxas sighed. He really thought that he should know better. "I keep thinking about the Shadows."

"What about them..?"

"We're not... That different. Are we?" The way he posed the question almost sounded more like a statement than anything. "Stuck doing the same thing, seeking a purpose we're never going to attain for a fate we can't..." His words trailed off and his eyelids drooped. He sighed, looking confused for a second. "Would it really be so bad to let them win?"

Luxord paused, thinking for a moment before speaking, "You have a point... to a point." Glancing back down towards the ground, he continued, "We make our own choices... We have the ability to change our fates... As strange and twisted as it may be... We have the power to make changes to ourselves and twist what should have been."

"I don't think it counts. Fate is something concrete and liquid, like a cat. Displeasing it is easy and then you're..." He leaned forward a little, watching the shadows swarming. "...Splat."

Luxord leaned forward slightly, staring down and following Roxas’ gaze before sighing, "Perhaps things aren't always as concrete as you think... Sometimes you just need a little luck in your favor..."

"I... Don't know if I have any luck left." Roxas murmured, licking his lips. He was quiet for a moment, lost to another thought, before asking, "Do you think that I... Can be good?"

"Can any of us truly be good or is that merely something that pertains to the moment and which side of the coin you're viewing from?" Luxord always knew how to make things sound better. It sounded so much more simple like that.

Blinking in confusion for a second, Roxas considered this. "I don't want to be inconsequential." He finally managed, blurting it out.

"Then don't be."

Furrowing his brows, he stared at his hands. "Can I even do that?"

"Of course. Give them a reason to remember you."

"...Nobody will remember me, Lux. I'm not supposed to..." Exist. He sighed. "We're Nobodies."

"They'll remember you if you give them something to remember... How can they forget if you change their very lives?"

"Everyone forgets me."

"Change that." Luxord finally looked back at the younger, "Build them up or destroy them... They'll remember that."

Those blue eyes met the other's for a second and he glanced away, "And what happens if I can't do either? I die trying?"

"You at least go out... Trying."

"...What's different between dying trying and just... Going out from up here?"

"One of those means you gave it your best shot and the other means you gave up."

"What if giving up is all I got left?"

"Then you need to figure out what's stopping you and why you haven't given up yet... and fight for that."

Roxas paused for a moment, staring down at his hands before reaching over and taking one of Luxord's. He was quiet, just relishing in squeezing his hand. "What do I gotta do?"

Looking at the other's hand holding his own, Luxord smiled softly before leaning in and pressing their lips together for a moment. "..Don't leave me."

Heart hammering in his chest as they kissed, Roxas gently reached up to hold his cheek gently. "...Okay."

"I enjoy spending time with you..."

"I like spending time with you, too..." Luxord’s games always made life more understandable, and everything that he did made life seem more worth living. He would have died without the other, he thought. If he hadn’t come to see him tonight, maybe he really would have. Their lips met again and Roxas sighed softly, content.

“We should move from the edge. I wouldn’t want to see your new lease on life fall so quickly.” Luxord was on his feet in seconds, taking the other by his armpits and dragging him back. He didn’t trust Roxas to be able to stand without plummeting right now, his knees were always so weak when he got to thinking for too long. Hoisting the other man to his feet, he smiled at him gently, pulling him into another kiss.

This time, Luxord held both of his cheeks gently, tilting his head and swiping his tongue over Roxas’ lips. Parting them, Roxas closed his eyes and leaned forward, pushing up on his tiptoes. It felt like an eternity before their lips parted again, wet and gentle as Luxord looked into his eyes.

“I think it’s you.” Roxas murmured softly, and Luxord rose a brow.

“Me?”

“The thing I need to fight for. The reason I didn’t jump.” Roxas informed, sucking both of his lips into his mouth. Luxord smiled, soft and genuine, before kissing his forehead.

“Then don’t leave me, Bug. I’ll be your reason all you want.” Luxord gently pet his thumbs over Roxas’ cheeks, watching him relax into him.

“Okay… What about you?”

“Me? You’re important to me, too, if that’s what you want. I don’t usually think about jumping into Heartless, love.”

Roxas laughed at that, maybe too loudly and for too long. He wiped his eye after a moment, grinning up at him.

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Thanks, Lux, you’re the best.”

“Anytime.” Leading Roxas through a portal to a safer place, Luxord hummed softly to himself, his arm around Roxas’ shoulders.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: Needed to write some more LuxRox self-indulgent stuff. Maybe one of these days they will actually get past just kissing. Who knows. I loved this, I hope you guys enjoyed it!

#Kingdom Hearts Fanfic #Kingdom Hearts Fanfiction #LuxRox #KH LuxRox #Kingdom Hearts Luxord #Kingdom Hearts Roxas

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tracies-tales · 5 years

Text

Letter by Letter

Dear Arin...

Dan’s pen paused. He pinched the tip and wiggled it as he surveyed his work. He’d written plenty of love songs in his day, comedy variety though they were. Writing out an actual love letter was basically second nature. Although, it wasn’t helping him get his feelings out and onto a tangible page as he’d hoped it would. He’d heard that pouring one’s soul out in words was a way that helped some people manage their emotions.

Looking at the letter again, Dan was pretty positive this had only deepened his infatuation.

It reminded him of everything he loved about Arin. It was filled end to end with the feelings that he tried to convey to Arin every day. Once he’d begun spilling the things he desperately wished he could find the courage to say out loud, he’d found it difficult to stop.

Because this letter also contained his terror.

As much as his heart was laid out in ink, so too was the underlying fear that this letter could mean the end of their friendship. He didn’t truly believe Arin would shun him if he knew how Dan felt, but he knew things would never be the same. Not really. You can’t just confess your undying love for a person and not experience a change one way or another.

A sigh parted Dan’s lips as he folded the paper and laid it on his chest beneath his hand. Somewhere, deep down, a piece of him yearned to give Arin the letter. The worst that would probably happen was Arin would apologize and say he didn’t feel the same way. Then they would go back to their lives, recording Game Grumps sessions, laughing at dick jokes, doing his best to hide the pain behind a smile.

He shifted to lay down on the Grump couch, utilizing the space while everyone else was absorbed in their own projects. He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned into his palms. He tried to get himself to accept the fact that Arin’s gay jokes were just that--jokes. But he said them too often, the inflection of his tone always just lilted enough to make Dan’s heart flutter and his thoughts turn to static. The way Arin’s hand would always linger on Dan’s arm or shoulder, or ass, on special occasions, made Dan unable to help but wonder.

“Whatcha got there?” Arin asked.

Dan jumped and snatched the letter off his chest, crumpling it into his fist. “What’s what?” he asked, far too quickly to be convincing. He hadn’t even heard the door to the studio open.

Arin’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Ooohhh, secrety secrets?” he prompted as he shut the door behind him.

Dan snorted, unable to help but chuckle at his tone. He figured he might as well play along. “Yes, the tippitiest toppest of secrets.”

“My favorite kind!” Arin walked over. Dan didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced to Dan’s hands as he sat up.

Dan shook a finger at him, “No siree, they’re secrets for a reason, Ar.”

A pout immediately overtook his features. They almost made Dan feel guilty enough to show him right then. “Dannyyy,” Arin whined, sitting next to him and leaning heavily into his shoulder. “Come on, at least give me a hint.”

Dan hated when he called him Danny--it was so damn cute. “Dude, cut it out,” he smiled, ruffling Arin’s hair with his free hand.

“Not until you tell me,” Arin looked up at him.

Dan pursed his lips. He was distracted just long enough by Arin’s puppy eyes for the letter to be snatched from his grip. “Hey!” Dan yelped, leaning to try to grab it back.

Arin stretched his arm to its maximum limit and leaned away from him, holding the paper out of reach. “Dan, come on, how bad can it be?”

“It’s just stupid song lyrics!” Dan blurted, immediately cursing himself for such a blatant lie.

“You’re never ashamed to show me your ideas for new lyrics,” Arin retorted. However, he relented and shifted back up, holding the letter out. Dan grabbed it, but it felt like some otherworldly force was stopping his hand from yanking it away.

Dan frowned down at it, refusing to meet Arin’s eyes. “I know,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm up with a tingling blush.

“So...what is it?” Arin asked, his tone much less jovial than it was a minute ago.

Dan bit his lip. He shut his eyes and said, “It’s...a letter. To you.”

That made Arin’s brows knit in confusion. “To me?”

“To you.”

“So why the hell were you so adamantly against showing it to me?”

“Because, I-” Dan’s voice got caught in his throat. “I wasn’t...sure if I was ready for you to know,” he replied, letting the paper go.

Arin glanced to his hand and back up to him. Waiting for approval. Dan grinned in spite of himself, through all the roiling fear tearing his guts apart; he was touched that Arin was actually double checking to make sure he had permission. Dan nodded, but he couldn’t meet Arin’s eyes. He tucked his knees up to hug them as he heard the crinkle of the paper being unfolded and straightened out. Then Arin began to read aloud, which only made Dan’s grip on his legs tighten.

“Dear Arin,

Where do I begin? I guess all letters have to start somewhere. So here it is, greatest intro to a letter there ever was. Smooth, Avidaniel

How was I supposed to know? I need to stop starting lines with questions How could I have known how big of a part you were going to play in my life?

Maybe it was your charming smile. Maybe it was your musical resounding laugh. Maybe it was the way you wanted me, a 38 year old nobody, to be your Game Grumps partner in crime. I don’t fucking know, but somehow you took a hold of me and never let me go.

No amount of words in pen, text, audio recording, or verbal assault will ever be able to quantify what it means to me. What you mean to me. Because, fuck dude, you mean the world.

You deserve everything you have. I mean it. The internet popularity, the lovelies, the job, you’ve worked your ass off for this. Everyone is so proud of what you’ve accomplished, and I couldn’t be happier or luckier to get to see you shine so brightly. I don’t care that the spotlight isn’t on me--you’re more of a star than I’ll ever be.

Shit, I’m running out of paper already. Curse my own large-print hubris!

I suppose there is one way I could have summed this up rather than write a whole ass essay about the subject.

What I’ve been struggling to write this whole time, because once I’ve written it I’ll know for sure it’s true:

I love you, Arin.

Nothing’s ever going to change that, whether or not you do, too.

You can count on it, Big Cat.”

The silence in the room that followed gnawed at Dan’s stomach like acid. Maybe giving him the letter wasn’t the best idea after all. Was he mad? No, he was probably thinking of the gentlest way to turn him down. The waiting was agonizing, driving Dan insane.

The horrendous ache was quelled by Arin’s arms wrapping around him. They encompassed Dan entirely, legs and all, into a snug embrace. Dan was shocked enough that he forgot to adjust to help as Arin hauled him into his lap. The paper had left Arin’s hand and fluttered to the floor.

A sniffle made Dan turn his head. “Arin? Are...are you crying?” he asked.

“Fuck you, what do you mean am I crying?” Arin laughed, the sound broken up with gentle sobs. “How the fuck am I s’posed to read shit like that and not get emotional?”

“I’m...fuck man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even mean to give it to you, I...”

“So you were just gonna bottle it up like some kind of dumbass?”

Dan blinked, “What?”

“Like I haven’t been hinting this at you for years,” he scoffed. “Years, Daniel! I spent this entire damn time thinking the same shit, more or less.”

Dan was dumbfounded. He felt tears start to well up in his eyes, as well, “Really?”

“Of c--of course really! What the hell do you think I was implying? I was hitting on you but really what I wanted was to bang Ross?”

The curse of the static-brain returned. “Hitting on me?”

“Holy fuck, you really were clueless,” Arin laughed, snuggling his face into Dan’s shoulder. He sniffled again and said, “This is only about a couple years too late, but I love you too, Dan.”

Warmth blossomed in Dan’s chest, and his heart raced with no indication of slowing any time soon. He had succumbed to tears as well, beaming at Arin before he shifted his torso and threw his arms around his neck. When Arin lifted his head in curiosity at the adjusted posture, Dan pulled him into a kiss.

When they parted, Dan noticed Arin now shared his blush. “I’m glad,” Dan said, unsure that he could manage to say anything else.

They both turned their heads when they heard the door opening to Ross, who said, “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” His gaze drifted to the floor as he noticed the letter. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Dan and Arin said.

cliche? maybe a little

regrets? none

this was inspired by the book “to all the boys i’ve loved before" :) ps i know dan’s 39 i just picked 38 bc idk

edit: this additional little note is to let y’all know i really am taking writing suggestions almost always so if you have ideas or a prompt from somewhere else you want me to tackle, pitch it to me! the worst i can do is say no (and I probably won’t, unless it’s too terribly nsfw) :D

#egobang #ficlet #fluff #love letter

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ficklepicklefandoms · 7 years

Text

“Diss” Track ~ Simon Minter

Fandom: SDMN (Sidemen)

Pairing: Simon Minter x reader

Words: 1,158

Requested?: No

Warnings: Swearing and a lot of it, fluff bc y not

A/N: After his diss track I've fallen in love with Simon all over again and just had to write an imagine for him. I hope you guys enjoy and don't forget to request things to my ask box! Love you darlings!

The current beef going on was driving me insane. I couldn't post a video without being interrogated by the people in my comments section asking about the boys and my boyfriend, Simon. My channel was a mix of everything. Lifestyle, beauty, gaming, you name it.

When Simon released his diss track I was away with some friends in Aberdeen raising money for charity. I only got to see it in the airport before my flight home and recorded my reaction in the business lounge. To say I was shocked at his flow would be an understatement. I never knew he had it in him. And boy did he look fuckable in that video.

Then things got messy. Harry was dishing out shots as if they were bags of sweets, JJ was being- trying to be a rapper and somehow became friends with RiceGum, Ethan was, I don’t even know, Vik was comparing curries, Josh was recording Genius episodes and Tobi was leading Team Skr. I could barely keep up.

It was almost quiet at the Sidemen house. No one was about. Josh was with Freya, Vik was out doing god knows what and Si, reacting to Deji’s new “diss” track. I had wanted to react to it with him, but Simon insisted I didn’t in case he said something offensive towards me. I tried to convince him but nothing would get him to budge. So, here I am, cup of tea in hand watching Deji “diss” Simon.

I was about thirty seconds in and quite bored when I heard a bang from upstairs. I quickly placed my tea down and ran up the steps to Simon’s room. I knocked gently to prevent any surprise and entered shortly after.

“Si, darling, whatever is the matter?” I sighed seeing him sat in his gaming chair tensely. His hair was still slightly damp from the shower he had just had and was beginning to flop in front of his face. I could see his camera was still recording and was silently praying he didn’t go insane.

“That cunt said shit about you. I swear I’ll knock him dead for what he said. Oh, fucking hell don’t watch it, baby.” He said through gritted teeth while balling up his fists. He was trying to click off of the video but I made it to the mouse before him. I found a time mark before Deji’s apparent diss of me and waited to hear what he had to say. Simon didn’t even try and stop me from watching it anymore. He knew I wouldn’t stop until I saw what he said.

“Your girlfriend? Hey, how have you not gotten sick from eating her tuna every night? Listen, roses are red, violets are blue, go take the garbage out, take Y/N with you. She’s a whore, she’s a sket, don’t go and do something to unimpress because if you knock her up Simon, it’ll be your biggest regret.” Came through Simon’s speakers. The video quickly ended. My eyes were wide and my jaw stuck open. I quickly paused the video and dropped onto Simon’s lap.

“I’ll murder him I swear. He won’t live another day after this I can tell you that.” Simon said with a slight growl to his tone as he desperately tried to close my mouth. I began laughing. Not at Si but at Deji’s shitty diss at me. I fluffed my hair quickly and faced towards Si’s camera.

“Is your ass jealous of the amount of shit that just came out of your mouth? Bitch, please. I haven’t got time for low lives like you who think telling my boyfriend that if he gets me pregnant it’ll be his biggest regret. Yeah, it could happen by mistake but he sure as hell won’t regret it. So don’t fucking come after my family ok? You got it? Stay in your fucking lane and cut the bullshit.” I said my voice increasing in volume. Simon and I had discussed our future many times before. He would always say to me that if we ever had a kid he would be the happiest man ever. We had talked about the “what if” of having an unplanned pregnancy. Simon even then said he’d still be the happiest man. I knew once he told me that, he was the one.

“Kids are on the cards for us in the future please God and I fucking hope by the time we have a baby you will come to realise that you were wrong about everything. And hopefully, by that time your YouTube career will be long dead and I won’t ever think of you again.” My eyes were blazing with rage. I would not tolerate this shit from him ever again. I could feel Simon’s arms snaking around my waist and drawing patterns in an attempt to calm me down. I knew he was enjoying me going after him like this.

“So Deji, go suck a big fat cock and have fun realising you are not the best thing since sliced bread because frankly hun, you're like the first slice of bread in the bag. Everyone touches you, but nobody really wants you. So there. I'd really like to see things from your point of view but I can't seem to get my head that far up my ass so sorry pal. Good try at dissing me though.” I finished. My breathing was heavy and fast.

“So guys, I’m ending the video here and I’m not bothered to edit out anything so you’re getting a raw video. I have to go calm the love of my life down so see ya.” Simon said quickly before shutting off his camera and pulling me into him.

“Did I say too much? I swear I was a different person.” I sighed placing a hand to my banging head. I was starting to regret my outburst and was wondering what would happen now.

“You said everything I wanted to say and more. If he ever says anything remotely bad about you ever, I will not hesitate to box him in the face.” Simon said with a slight chuckle in his voice. I smiled at his comment.

“You know when I said that thing about family? I truly mean it, Simon. You, the rest of the boys, Callux, Freezy, Chris, everyone, you’re all my family and I’d do and say anything to protect you all.” I whispered setting my small hand onto his left cheek. He grinned widely like the Chesire Cat and glued his lips to mine.

“You’re a one of a kind Y/N L/N.” He muttered brushing some loose hair away from my face. I let out a small giggle and stuffed my head into his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t I lucky.” I smiled as Simon and I enjoyed each other’s company while sitting on his gaming chair blocking out the hate and the rest of the world around us.

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summeroftim · 6 years

Text

Reflections

I think that sometimes I try to be too profound, too flowery with my language. I don’t want to edit this, I don’t want it to have form or structure. I just want to think back on this year and what i’ve learned about myself and the world and write about it. No poetry. No flourishes.

I’ve spend the better part of a week thinking about writing something about the year i’ve had. My thoughts have all started the same way: this has been a tough year. That doesn’t really even begin to give it justice. I have lost a lot this year. Yes, i’ve gained some experience, and i’ve faced up to some self-truths but mostly I feel empty. One of my favourite metaphors of all time is from Tolkien, where Bilbo says that he feels like butter scraped over too much bread. That is how I feel as the year sets around me. There is not enough in me, or of me, to care about all the things I used to. I feel vacuous. I feel tired.

I cannot help but feel like this has been a year of lost progress. At first glance that feels too simplistic a way to phrase it. I feel like I had been climbing steadily up a rock face, feeling my way as I went, looking for grips and footholds. But, suddenly, the rock gave way beneath me and I slid back down the mountain. I didn’t fall, I just slid. I cut myself and bruised myself on the rocks that jutted out on my way down and now I find myself halfway from where I was at the start of the year, and halfway from the bottom. I am battered, bloody, and gasping for air. I look up and there is more of the mountain ahead of me than there was before, and I don’t have the energy that I did when I started the climb. There is a rock climbing term, I think it’s called getting ‘rimrocked’, and it’s basically where, partway through your climb you find yourself in a situation where you can’t see a way to climb any higher, but you also can’t see a way back down, and there is a type of psychological fear that you have to overcome to progress. I guess that’s a little how I feel.

As I said, i’ve lost a lot this year. I’ve found myself at different times out of love, out of employment, and out of direction. I have written before about how I struggle with self love. Something i’ve struggled with since I was a teenager, really. I think I love myself the most when I am loving others. A few years ago I met a girl and I fell in love with her very quickly and very deeply. In the three years I was with her, I realise that I may not have made a whole lot of progress in truly loving the person I am, but I was in love with her, and I found a happiness in making her happy and in the life we built around ourselves. I still don’t know if this was a mistake or not. Maybe I shouldn’t have pursued a life with someone else until I had found a way to accept and love myself. But as I write this I know that the closest I have been to content in myself was when I was making her happy, or at least trying to. I’ve always been sad, and I suspect I always will be in my own way, but when I was living for others, living for her, the need to be there and be supportive superseded my sadness and my tendency to wallow within it. I guess in a way, in living for others I was living for myself.

But she left. My heart was broken and it remains that way. I understand that break-ups are a part of life and nearly everyone on the planet has or will experience them in their lives. I am not special. But she was. It is still so hard to to take the ending of this relationship as anything other than a personal failing. I simply could not make her happy the way that I once could. It scares me. It rocks me to my fucking core than things can be fine and then all of a sudden, over a matter of weeks, they start to look at you a little differently, hug you a little shorter, kiss you a little less passionately, and then it’s over. It some ways it was worse that it didn’t end with a bang, but with a whisper. I would have preferred a tidal wave to slam into me. But instead, the ocean tide just lapped at the shoreline, quietly and monotonously, and one day it just took her with it.

One of the hardest parts to deal with was the fact that despite my soul-searching there isn’t a lot I think I could have done differently. In the aftermath of everything happening I said some things out of passion that I regret and most likely always will. I was toxic in a way that I despise in other men and I will have to live with that. I have had so few good male role-models in my life so I feel like i’ve had to be my own role model, and this is an idea i’ll take with me for the rest of my life and try to share with others as much as I can. My father is a misogynist and, frankly, a cunt. He has made me both hate fathers and instilled within me a strong desire to never be one. The greatest thing he ever taught me was what not to do. The years I spent with this girl who I loved, I made sure to treat her, as best I could, with grace, and dignity, and kindness. I think I did that. I respected her, and nurtured her, and loved her as best I could. That is partly why these last 6 months have been so hard. I have not had the luxury of spending them condemning myself for some catastrophic mistake, or error in judgement that I made. The reality is much worse. In truth, I tried my best, and succeeded in trying my best, and yet it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. There is a different pain in that. Doing everything in accordance with your own morals and judgements and still failing is the harshest lesson that life has taught me, and one that I find myself severely unequipped to deal with.

On the note of male role models, in my post break-up depression I returned to a show that I had watched religiously a few years ago. It was a show made by a man who I looked up to. Someone who I feel I connected with, who saw the world as I saw it. He taught me a lot about myself and influenced how I treated others and interacted with them. As I binged through the show, one episode in particular hit me like a ton of bricks. The titular character is dealing with a breakup and is depressed. He talks to an older man in a park about how he loved a girl and that they aren’t together anymore, and that the sadness that has overcome him makes him feel that being in love in the first place was not worth the pain of the present. The old man responds by saying “Boy, misery is wasted on the miserable.” Here’s a transcript of what follows:

Old Man: “You think spending time with her, kissing her, having fun with her - you think that's what it was all about? That was love? This is love. Missing her because she's gone, wanting to die - you're so lucky. Don't you see? This is the good part. This is what you've been digging for. Now you finally have it in your hand - the sweet nugget of love, sweet sad love. And you wanna throw it away? You've got it all wrong."

Titular character says: "I thought this was the bad part."

Old man: "No! The bad part is when you forget her, when you don't care about her, when you don't care about anything. The bad part is coming, so enjoy the heartbreak while you can for godsake!”

Understandably this was an incredibly powerful moment for me. Like all my favourite pieces of art, it made me feel like the scene was written just for me to watch. But then, around a week after i’d finished watching the show, something happened. A story broke about the man who made the show, the man who I looked up to so much. The man was Louis CK. It was like a gut punch. I felt like I didn’t have any idols anymore. I deleted everything I had of his off my computer. I was furious. I was confused. I felt disappointed, both in him, and in men, and in myself for thinking my personal feelings were somehow more important than the actual victims involved. I discarded him like I discarded my father, and I don’t think I was wrong to do so (on both occasions). There is potentially an interesting and difficult discussion to be had regarding how we approach art made by terrible people, but this is not the place to have it. The whole episode did a lot to strengthen my view that we shouldn’t have role models, and why we each need to be our own.

I am still searching for my place in this world. I am still searching for a way to love myself. I am still searching for a direction to take. For better or worse this year has made me hard. My skin has grown into chipped granite. I have withdrawn into myself. I am becoming even more solitary than I have always been. The thing I dream most about now is a small three room apartment where I live. I have routine. I have silence. I don’t mean literal silence, there are small squeaks and creaks. There is music, a cat maybe. But my life is silent. I don’t know if I am equipped to handle other people, to handle love. I don’t think I could ever expose myself to love again in the same way that I have so far in my life. Love is exquisite, but it’s real test is in how you deal with its departure. I know that I have another high in me, but I doubt very much that I have another bottom.

I will tread carefully.

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webgottmilk · 7 years

Text

~ Heard It Through the Grapevine ~

This fic is a gift for the lovely and patient @ciarlapanics; the fic rec is coming, I promise! In the meantime, enjoy some Bradray feels, since I’m a sucker, and you can never have too many in our little fandom. Enjoy <3

Summary: This is not quite how Ray imagined he’d become Internet famous.

Rating: E

Word Count: 5,237

This is not the way that Ray wanted to become Internet famous - in his mind, rock stardom comes from carefully crafted albums and hours spent in recording booths. Of course his fame is the wretched lovechild of his overactive imagination and (admittedly) poor planning skills.

And yes, perhaps literally jumping into Brad Colbert’s arms upon his arrival back to the States wasn’t the sanest of ideas, but even that he can let his best friend chalk up to his rather poor upbringing. (“If you had any less brain cells Ray, you’d be a drooling vegetable. In fact, the drooling part isn’t far off”). To be fair however, flying directly to Nevada,Missouri after finishing up serving with the Royal Marine Commandos - fucking English frogs in his mind - is no small feat to Ray, and deserves at least a small gesture of gay love on his part.

Ok, yes, Ray may have regretted the action as soon as he tackled Brad since holy shit the fucking Viking can hold on to a lot of weight and god damn those arms. But properly non heterosexual thoughts aside, it’s not really an intelligent idea to display affection in public for any Marine, lest civilians catch on to the idea that they’re actually human beings too! At least, Ray chooses to believe that that’s Brad’s reasoning for his usually reserved nature upon being body slammed at the Joplin Municipal Airport.

Surprisingly, Brad plays along with the reunion, twirling Ray around like some sparkly gay ass princess from Disney’s latest money making gambit, and laughs quietly into his ear.

“I knew you loved me, Iceman!”, Ray crows back - give him an inch and he’ll take a mile…

Brad is obviously thinking along those lines, dropping him faster than Encino Man called danger close strikes on his own men back in Iraq.

“I would question your actions, Ray”, he says, stepping back and lazily drawling, “but I know that there’s barely room for a thought that’s not involving incest or NASCAR in that fucked up head of yours.”

Ray tilts his head upwards to peer at Brad - who is still standing close enough that he can smell the sweat and dirt on his fatigues - and winks lecherously.

“I just couldn’t wait to get my hands back on those Viking arms of yours, homes. They’re irresistible”, Ray draws the last word out in an overexaggerated attempt to mimic Walt’s slow country accent. He blows the bemused Brad a kiss before striking off towards the baggage claim. Brad follows closely, always watching his six, as he crosses the terminal and heads towards carousel four.

“Eat any English sausages?”, Ray asks innocently as they idle side by side, waiting for Brad’s single camo coloured duffle to appear on the conveyor belt.

Brad only snorts, shoving Ray hard enough that he has to struggle the slightest amount to regain his balance, and dignity.

“Civilian life has made you soft, Ray. You’re a goddamn disgrace to every Marine in Nevada”, Brad shoots back, clearly not missing the shorter man’s attempt at recovery. “Don’t worry, you can join me on my six mile run tomorrow, early bird catches the worm, or the sausage, I suppose.” Brad laughs openly at his distress, then nudges Ray again suggestively.

“Homes, if I needed birds to help me find sausage, I would have checked myself into a hospice long before your giant white ass landed back on US soil.” He is obviously teasing, so Brad obliges with a soft huff, then quickly steps forward to grab his bag off the belt.

“Let’s go home, Ray. You clearly need a nap and a bottle before your infantile brain is able to comprehend even the simplest of metaphorical phrases”. With that, Brad marches in the direction of the Parking Area signs, Ray trailing behind him.

The ride home, in Ray’s ancient pickup truck (“Ray, this piece of junk is going to fall apart right out from under us, before I’ve had a chance to consume one of your shitty Coors Lights”.) (“Oh Bradley, you know I bought gay microbrew just for you - no Coors Light for your delicate sensibility”.) is non eventful, even with the occasional jibe about Ray’s Elvis sunglasses - “we pimpin, homes,” he recites with a wry smile, as they coast along the highway, still going a good ten miles over the speed limit.

The night is spent drinking too many shitty beers, and consuming too much shitty media. (“Ray, no matter what you say, Inception is a B+ movie with poor editing and no plot”) and (“Bradley Colbert, your mother raised you better than to insult the good name of Christopher Nolan, shame on you!). Brad passes out on the couch around two am, clearly succumbing to the exhaustion of a day spent airplane hopping. Ray covers him with a blanket, heroically ignoring the strip of pale skin that his ridden up fatigues expose. He gulps, making a mental note to stay far, FAR away from the thought.

Ray sleeps fitfully, mostly because, “goddammit Brad, pineapple on pizza is not only the gayest thing you have ever suggested to me, but also the most disgusting, which coming from me, should shame you.” Pineapple and Coors Light do not a friendly bedfellow make, so he spends his hours gravitating between the kitchen, where he can just make out the fine blonde hairs of Brad’s head, and his cold, messy bed. Ray knows how pathetic it is to stare longingly over the counter at your best friend, so he actively avoids the kitchen and living room after a couple of passes.

Around six, he checks his Twitter, since if it’s good enough for Donald Trump, it’s good enough for him. (At least that’s how he defended his usage when Brad raised a judgmental eyebrow at him between scenes of The Usual Suspects.) He smothers his laughter when he sees the number one trending tag, because “planking” is literally the dumbest fad since swallowing goldfish. He passes the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Repeal” tag with much less amusement, but makes a mental note to read up on it at a slightly later date. However, it’s trending tag number three that stops him half way through a drink of water; the sheer absurdity of the tag “Marinesinlove” is so substantial that he isn’t sure whether to laugh, or hide his face in his grubby pillow. Marines, displaying emotions? That’s the most retarded fucking thing he’s seen in the last twelve hours, and Brad Colbert’s lustful gaze at a pineapple covered pizza was one of them.

In the end, curiosity kills the cat (fuck you Brad, he can understand simple metaphors, or whatever), so Ray bites the bullet and clicks the tag. And nearly drenches his lap in ice cold fridge water. The first image to appear is a gif of Brad twirling him, HIM, around in a circle, with the tag, “Marine boyfriends in love”, and the addition of three heart eye emojis. The post has over six hundred retweets, with comments such as the disgusting “awwww”, and “this is what true love looks like”, though with a suspicious lack of grammar so common to Twitter.

Numb, Ray continues scrolling - it doesn’t just stop at the gif. There are multiple picture sets of Brad staring into Ray’s eyes - hold on, he swears that they weren’t standing THAT close at the airport - and gif upon gif of him rolling his eyes at Ray’s ridiculous antics. But what Ray can’t help but continuously notice is the overwhelming amount of grammatically incorrect tweets praising the “anonymous” Marines for their candid display of affection. They extol their bravery in openly revealing a “passionate and sweet love” (if Ray rolls his eyes anymore, he’s sure he’s going to contract brain damage, which according to Brad, he can’t really afford to contract).

Seriously, it’s just two guys really excited to see each other, after months and oceans apart - at least that’s what Ray tells himself over and over. Shit. Motherfucking son of a bitch, what is he going to say to Brad? “Hey Brad, I know you just got home from dealing with horrible beer and worse accents for months, but the entire Internet thinks that we’re in love, so I don’t think it’s a good idea if you go outside just yet.”

Oh god, he’s dead. He is so, so, unbelievably dead.

Since the gods are cruel, and just when Ray’s life has taken a u-turn towards ‘your best friend / one who you harbor secret feelings of not so friendship for is about to kill you’, the very object of his thoughts appears in the doorway, strangely lacking any coverage in the torso area. Fuck Ray’s life.

“You’re up!” Brad says, fake joviality clearly meant to annoy Ray, “which means that you can join me for my hard core Marine six mile run, unless of course, your pussy civilian lifestyle has coddled you into comfort and diabetes already.”

Ray blinks at him, still trying to look past the obvious tan lines that mar Brad’s pale skin, and perhaps stop eyeing the toned planes of his stomach quite so obviously.

“Ray…?” Brad’s voice cuts through his thoughts, sending his nerves tumbling around his stomach. “Is your whiskey tango head so fucked up that you can’t even form a coherent thought before seven am? This is a truly desolate day, my friend, truly sad.” Brad is clearly trying to cheer him up through the usual jabs at his upbringing and civilian status, but it’s not really doing anything to ease his thoughts. Mostly because Brad is standing there SHIRTLESS, which is a goddamn distraction in itself.

Finally, he regains his voice: “Seriously homes? It’s day one, and you can’t even let your Ray-Ray have a little bit of a lie in? Come give me a morning kiss and we’ll go from there”. He musters up all the bravado he can, and throws his arms out, head tilted upwards, lips pursing in supposed anticipation.

Instead of replying, Brad huffs and shoves Ray back onto the bed, sprawling himself across the other half, with his hand absently lying on Ray’s chest.

“Ray, if I knew you pussied out so easily, I would have woken you up at four, just to have the satisfaction of seeing you struggle to tie your shoes at ass o’clock in the morning. As it is, this bed is marginally more comfortable than the abominable piece of furniture you call a couch, so I am going back to sleep. But when I wake up, you best be ready to run, or I will throw you out the door naked and laugh as you struggle to walk up a hill without developing blisters on your delicate civi feet.” Brad says all of this whilst staring at Ray’s collar bone, the only thing in his line of sight. Ray is still actively staring at the ceiling, forcing himself not to imagine waking up to a half naked Brad Colbert in his bed everyday. With this speech over, Brad steals the pillow out from underneath Ray’s head, effectively trapping him, with one arm wrapped up in the two now resting under his pillow. He closes his eyes, and is almost immediately asleep.

Fuck his life. Really, fuck his life.

<GK>

When Ray manages to extract himself from the BradRay pile that had been forced on him, his first thought is COFFEE. Everything in the world, his mother taught him, can be solved by a cup of black coffee. She always joked that the blacker the soul, the blacker the coffee, though Ray was never sure how much of it was jest, considering there was never any cream or sugar in sight the few times his absent father appeared.

Shaking his head, Ray bullies his French press (“When did you get married, Ray? The only place you can find those metal fuckers are at fucking Crate + Barrel during wedding season.”) (“Of course I’ll marry you, Brad! How could I refuse, with a proposal like that?”) into spouting the foulest, blackest coffee it can muster.

Game plan, he needs a game plan. Ideally, one which ends with Brad and him managing to have an adult conversation about their feelings and all that bullshit. He snorts coffee all over the counter, and down the front of his shirt at the thought. The very idea is both colossally retarded and completely unrealistic. While this thought marinates in his head, Ray hunts for another shirt. Blindly, he reaches for one hanging off of the end of the couch, and, throwing the coffee defiled one on the carpeted floor, pulls the other over his head. Feeling refreshed, Ray walks back across the living room into the kitchen, where he pours himself a third cup of caffeinated murder water.

Ok, so then, how? Perhaps it’s just better to show Brad - he is a visual kind of motherfucker. And, demonstrating that the entirety of Twitter believes he and Ray to be in some kind of idealistic gay love seems like the best way to pound the idea into his neanderthal thick skull. Maybe it’ll even dissuade Brad from clobbering Ray long enough for him to make for higher ground. Apologizing has never been one of Ray’s tactics - he is unapologetic in all that he says and does, a perfect Marine trait - so he doesn’t believe that it will get him anywhere. Resigned, he pours himself another cup of fortification, and hunkers down on a stool to wait out the impending storm.

Blessedly, he doesn’t have to suffer with his own damning thoughts for too long; a shirtless and sleepy Viking clambers from his bedroom about ten minutes later. By now, Ray is starting to feel the effects of his fifth cup of coffee - it’s not unlike the familiar buzz of Ripped Fuel.

“How do you feel about free trade coffee, Brad? In the opinion of this ex-Marine, I think it’s complete bullshit. Like seriously, Starbucks? All of your beans are “ethically sourced”, he makes finger quotes here, “yet your customers throw away more than four million cups every year? And your, ‘one tree for every bag of coffee sales pitch’? Utter shit - if you could even plant trees at that rate, we’d call you fucking Captain Planet and put you in a Marvel comic book.” Ray’s knee won’t stop bouncing off the underneath of the counter and he really needs to get a grip RIGHT NOW.

“Good morning to you too, Ray, and Jesus, I thought you’d detoxed from the Ripped Fuel. The fact that you know specific figures on the waste that Starbucks produces just proves that you’re more of a frappuccino bloated prepubescent teenage girl than I feared. Nevertheless , a six mile run will quickly cure you of this pussiness. Look sharp.” Brad says this lot as he crosses the kitchen, pours himself a cup of steaming coffee, and leans across the counter to examine Ray for signs of Ripped Fuel ingestion. Ray stares back, noticing an almost imperceptible tightnesses that briefly overrules Brad’s expression. He has no idea what that’s about.

“Brad”, Ray begins, and winses, picking at the peeling paint on the side of the counter. He hates that he has to have this conversation, and even more, he hates how terrified he is to have this conversation. If it goes badly, he might very well lose Brad. “I really don’t think that the run is going to happen.” He quickly slips on an impish smile to cover his discomfort, and then adds, “you haven’t even tried my famous caffeinated bean water yet! It’s the best on the block! I swear to god, if you can’t take one day off, I’m FedExing you to Doc Brian for a psych eval, and don’t think I won’t make sure you fail it, even to give you one day of true R&R.”

Brad, who had been contemplatively sipping his coffee and staring into the living room, looks at Ray with an exasperated glance.

“Knew you’d pussy out; fine, I agree to forgo the run, IF, and only if I am allowed to force feed you more pineapple pizza before our run tomorrow morning.” His glance becomes an evil smirk, fully knowing that whether or not allowance is given, he’ll do it anyways.

And goddamnit if Ray wouldn’t willingly allow him to - he is so fucked. Instead of replying, he rolls his eyes and crosses to the living room, where he flops down on the couch. Brad joins him a minute later, coffee cup in one hand, and a plate of toast in another. He silently offers Ray a slice, who happily crunches on it, spraying crumbs and spite everywhere.

“Ray, sometimes I wonder how you managed to survive Iraq without being slaughtered by Q-Tip and eaten as bacon. The way you eat, I’m honestly surprised no one mistook you for livestock.” Brad doesn’t even glance at Ray’s overly obnoxious chewing, instead choosing to flip the TV on, where CNN blares obnoxiously.

“Thank you, Jeff. And in other news, the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Repeal of 2010 has finally been fully implemented. President Obama will host a press conference to celebrate this historical event later this evening. It just so happens that we have a heartwarming clip taken at the Joplin Regional Airport yesterday which I think really demonstrates just what this repeal means for many LBTQ+ servicemen.”

Ray’s stomach drops, but there’s not time to run before the clip is rolled.

The footage is clearly taken on an iPhone, and is slightly blurry, but not enough to obscure the obvious faces in front of him. In the clip, the short, dark haired man drops his backpack on the terminal floor and runs full tilt towards a tall, Viking looking man, jumping practically into his arms, and wrapping his legs around the taller man’s waist. The blonde man laughs quietly and smiles fondly down at the smaller man, but spins him in a circle anyways, Marine fatigues clear, even in the video.

Beside him, Brad goes absolutely still.

The news anchor is talking again, something about the heartwarming affection that can be seen, the obvious love between the two men. “I mean, just look at the way they look at each other,” interrupts a second news anchor, “it’s clear that they share a special bond.” The rest is drowned out by a rushing sound in Ray’s ears, who glances over to gauge Brad’s reaction, only to find him already looking at Ray.

“Brad, I…”, It’s not often that Ray Person is at a loss for words; not a comforting thought in this moment. Instead, Ray shakes his head, and bolts, leaving before he can fuck this up anymore.

“Ray! Ray! Goddamnit, you sister fucking idiot! Stop, Jesus fucking Christ!”, he can hear Brad yelling behind him, but does his best to ignore him; he certainly has practice at it.

Next time he glances at his surroundings, he’s driving ninety down the highway in his truck.

Eventually, he stops to check Google Maps, and realizes that he’s left his phone on the counter, probably in a puddle of black coffee. Miserably, he recalls that it’s probably the last time he’ll listen to Brad’s voice for a long time. He can’t even call him in a drunken haze to hear him rant, that is, if he picks up. The Iceman isn’t really one for words.

Ray finds himself at Walton Lake, where he used to swim as a kid - even when he’s not conscious, he ends up near landmarks that remind him of Brad. He laughs bitterly.

Since it’s only ten in the morning, he hunts around for a beer in the cab of his truck, and slouches down to the lake, laying underneath a tree. He figures that sleeping is his only hope of passing enough time to forget how colossally he has fucked up his life. He skips rocks for a while, and ends up watching the local kids push each other into the water. It only makes him feel worse. He suddenly recalls all the times Brad had given him that wry smile in the Humvee rolling through desolate wasteland after desolate wasteland. He was always checking in on him, “easy on the Ripped Fuel, Ray”, or an (almost) gently phrased “stay frosty, gents.” Ray drops his head between his legs; god, he is so fucked. He knows that he loves Brad, and that’s what terrifies him. It’s so much easier to throw insults back and forth, antagonize him with Avril Lavigne and Ripped Fuel Rants - he knows how Brad will react to those quirks. This… this is uncharted territory.

Finally, Ray decides that wallowing in self pity won’t accomplish anything further - going home to a Brad free house is going to hurt either way, might as well get it over with.

<GK>

He opens the door cautiously, not ready to be confronted with an empty house. He sucks in a breathe when his eyes are immediately drawn to the straight back figure sitting at the kitchen counter. Brad’s eyes meet his, and Ray is suddenly reminded that his demeanor isn’t the only reason they call him the Iceman. Quietly, he closes the door, and makes for his bedroom, hoping for as clean a confrontation as possible, but Brad is off his stool and pinning (?) him against the wall of his bedroom hall.

“No, Ray. We are going to talk about this. Like the semi-adults that the Corpse raised us to be. Do you think your disease ridden brain can handle a simple five minute conversation?” Brad says it calmly, ice laced in his voice, but the grip that he has around Ray’s wrists communicates something entirely different. He nods in response. Still, Brad makes not attempt to move them, only pinning Ray further into the wall.

“Did you know about the media coverage this morning? Is that why you refused to go on a run like a pussy bitch?” Clearly, the interrogation has begun.

Ray avoids Brad’s eyes as best he can: “What do you think, Bradley? That I was just going to drop that kind of bomb on you first thing in the morning? Oh, by the way, the Internet thinks that we’re in love, and it’s trending on Twitter and all the other god forsaken social medias that tween girls consume these days. I know you think you’re some sort of demolitions expert, but not even you’re qualified to diffuse that kind of ammunition, Brad. So fuck you, yes, I knew. And no, I didn’t say anything.”

Brad forces Ray’s chin up with one hand, while the other pins both of his wrists above his head. “Why?”, he asks simply, his eyes like chips of hard sapphire.

“Fuck you, Brad. You wanna know why? You dying to know that fucking badly? Because I knew that you finding out would ruin this,” - he jerks his chin to indicate the two of them. “But, if the Internet found out, then I guess it’s pretty fucking obvious”. Ray laughs again, a caustic sound.

“What’s obvious?”, Brad’s voice is almost a growl now, clearly beyond pissed off with Ray. “Ray?”

“That I’m fucking in love with you, that’s what.” Ray practically spits it in his face; he’s so tired of holding it in. Fuck it, if Brad wants him to ruin this with the truth, then so be it.

Brad steps back so suddenly that Ray is slammed against the wall, his head cracking painfully. He closes his eyes against the sensation, waiting for Brad to walk away, to walk out - it’s the only ending to this unfortunate series of events.

“You’re what?” The softness of Brad’s tone is the most startling aspect of the phrase to Ray - why hasn’t he walked away yet? “You’re what?”, Brad repeats, blinking almost owlishly as Ray finally looks at him.

“I’m in love with you”, Ray says flatly. What does Brad want out of this? To rub in the satisfaction that he’s managed to force his biggest secret out of him?

“Say it again”, Brad steps closer, effectively repinning Ray, who is frankly getting tired of his internal organs being punished over five treacherous words.

“I’m in love with you?” The end comes up in a question like inflection, seriously Brad, what is going on…?

Brad laughs out loud, probably the strangest turn of events in an already bizarre day; Ray is too exhausted to fight any longer, so he just rests his head against the wall.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to tell me”, Ray’s head snaps back up. “Seriously?”

It’s Brad’s turn to nod. “You jumped out of our Humvee screaming at Batista to back the fuck up, since apparently your mother gave you barely enough braincells to eat fucking toast, toast, Ray. That’s when I knew.” The confession is quiet, splitting the air, since Brad is only inches now from Ray’s face.

“You love me?”, the questions is hedged in hesitation, but goddamnit if Ray doesn’t want to hear it back.

The Iceman nods, but it’s all the confirmation that Ray needs. It would be easy, so easy, to bridge the gap. All Ray would have to do is lean in. Fuck it. So he does.

Brad reacts immediately, pinning both of Ray’s wrists against the wall with one massive hand, and cupping his face with the other. The kiss isn’t by any means gentle, nor is it coordinated. It’s wet, and messy, and (cliched as it might be) everything Ray imagined it would be. Ray stretches upwards to tug Brad’s lower lip into his mouth, and Brad lets out an imperceptible moan. He shoves at Ray’s t-shirt until he musters up enough coordination to lift it over his head.

“I couldn’t concentrate this morning, with you in my t-shirt”, Brad mutters against his neck. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how many ways I could think of getting it off you”. Ray groans and tilts his neck, giving Brad better access with which to suck marks along the column of his throat. When Brad scrapes his teeth along his Adam’s apple, he practically whimpers - self-respect has just hit an all time low.

Ray’s hands, which have found their way to Brad’s waist dip lower, and squeeze. He growls against Ray’s throat, and sets them on his shoulders. Ray uses the leverage to wrap his legs around Brad’s waist, laughing internally at the familiar position. “Bedroom?”, he mutters to Brad. The jerk of breathe that he takes from the query seems to be answer enough, as he bodily carries Ray to his bed, dumping him on it in the process. Brad shucks off his sweatpants and crawls up the bed, intent on getting Ray out of his jeans as quickly and (ideally) with as little finesse as possible, or so it seems to him.

As Brad curses up a small storm, fighting with the buttons like they’re grenades, Ray deftly unbuttons them, squirming indelicately out of them, and making Brad snort with laughter. Ray grins back at him, “if the early bird gets the worm, does that mean I get the sausage?”. The fond and bemused smile that Brad gives him is worth the blow to his pride that the joke costs him. Without warning, Ray flips them, positioning himself firmly between Brad’s thighs, and begins sucking at his clavicle.

He trails kisses trails down to one nipple, and scrapes his teeth across it, eliciting a moan from Brad. “Didn’t know you were a nipple man, Brad”, Ray jibes softly, choosing to divert his attention to the other aforementioned object.

“Shut up, Ray”, Brad’s words come out stilted, through clenched teeth, as he attempts to keep himself from making too much noise.

Ray merely hums, and continues his oratory exploration.

He finds that tonguing over Brad’s abs make them jump in succession, and that his belly button is surrounded by a delicate trail of white blonde hair that disappears into his navy boxers. (“Navy, Brad? What kind of Marine are you? You don’t want your nuts to be disguised in camo? It’s so sad, that I show more priority to them than you do!”)

Ray bites at Brad’s left hipbone, watching for the way his entire body jumps with pleasure at the pain. Before he can continue though, Brad has flipped them again, and beginning biting his way down Ray’s chest.

“Dude, whoa, Jesus, it’s going to look like I was attack by a wolf. Fuck Brad, fuck, fuck”, Ray can’t seem to make his mouth stop, watching Brad suck marks onto his abdomen and hip bones. He noses his way further down, pulling Ray’s boxers down with his teeth. Ray wants to make a snarky comment about the coordination that that must take, but is currently lacking the brain cells to even think, let alone speak.

It now appears Brad has pulled his boxers down far enough to bite at his inner thighs, making Ray’s cock jump, and littering his legs with messy bites. “Jesus Brad, are you some kind of fucking vampire? Fuck.” He starts to move lower, but Ray grabs his wrist before he can move. “Whoa there, Lone Ranger, we don’t have to do it all in one night, we can take it slow. Seriously. C’mere, Bradley. Come cuddle your Ray-Ray.”

“Ray, I swear you were dropped on the head as a child. No, I guarantee that if I asked your mother, she would tell me she purposely dropped you, thinking it might improve that face.” Brad seems slightly disgruntled at being interrupted from his task, but complies nonetheless. Effectively, he wraps his body around Ray’s in a pseudo cuddle position, crushing him. “Happy?”

Ray squirms and shoves until he’s pushed Brad onto his back, and is sprawled on Brad’s chest, chin propped up so he can look at him.

“We have all the time in the world, Brad. Seriously, we could not move for the next six days, and the world wouldn’t notice. Plus, who else is going to force feed me pineapple pizza?”

“Ray, if you eat anymore pizza, you’re going to gain ten pounds, develop diabetes, and then be rushed to the hospital for a coronary heart transplant. Now go to sleep, or I’ll knock you out myself.”

“You’d still hold my hand during the ambulance ride, though.” Ray Person, finally getting the guy, and the last word.

And, when the alarm clock blares at six the next morning, and Brad forces Ray to run five miles to make up for the loss of yesterday, they’ll both laugh and shove each other, and it will feel like nothing has changed. The after workout shower might now involve two bodies instead of one, but who would notice, except for them?

And, when an official invite to attend the Obama’s annual Easter Egg Hunt arrives in April, Ray will just laugh and claim that they’re Jewish and cannot attend (“bullshit Ray, we’re both atheists, stop using my parents as an excuse”), and Brad will call them exactly what they are, the poster children of DADT, big fucking stereotypes, and to many, big fucking heroes. And no, Ray is still not a rock star, but he is Internet famous, thanks to his hyper active brain, and a ten foot tall Jewish Viking. But you just heard it through the grapevine, didn’t you…?

#generation kill #bradray #fic #feels #gift #au #kinda?

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skoisirius · 5 years

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I held an impromptu death celebration for Judith The Cat last night after receiving her ashes in the mail. I cried holding her remains in my lap staring at a brilliant sunset for nearly three hours straight. In retrospect it was almost harder than the day she went to sleep forever, as it was another step towards the reality that she truly, in fact, is no longer on the physical plain. I've kept myself so insanely busy for the last two weeks trying to fill the space that caring and hanging out with her every moment I could left that I feel like I've been running myself a bit thin, so it was more than amazing to just sit with her and be silent and present for a few hours. I don't feel like I'll ever say goodbye, as I know better. Death is just the next step of life. She's still with me and will be forever. I'm not sure I've ever been this sad in my entire life. I feel completely emotionally depleted. There is a hole in my heart that is going to take some serious time to get refilled, but I know it will happen. I miss her every waking moment of every day, and especially while sleeping, as that is when we would have some of best cuddle time, even if we were unconscious. It feels weird to hold onto the physical remains of a body reduced to ash. I'm not quite sure what I will do with the ashes yet, as being a cat, we didn't really go on walks, and none of the houses I have lived in over the years do I want to spread ashes at as I don't live there anymore. Some I will have tattooed into the piece of her I'm working on. The rest I just don't know...yet. I'm thankful the Universe reflected back with the 2,275 lightning strikes the day she died, September 7th, and with this incredible Seattle sunset the day I received her ashes. I miss you Bear ♥️. . . . . . . The first two photos are undoctored. The third wqs edited slightly, with #NoFilter. . #JudithTheCat #Seattle #LifeAndDeath #DeathCelebration #Sunset #MeowMixInTheSky #PurpleSkies #Purple #Shadows #Contrail #Clouds #GoldenGardens #206Love #SadAF #IMissYou #NeverToBeForgotten #SeeYouInTheNextLifeWhenWeAreBothCats (at Golden Gardens Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/B2sbRUJpL-A/?igshid=j6yltutpcgxi

#nofilter #judiththecat #seattle #lifeanddeath #deathcelebration #sunset #meowmixinthesky #purpleskies #purple #shadows #contrail #clouds #goldengardens #206love #sadaf #imissyou #nevertobeforgotten #seeyouinthenextlifewhenwearebothcats

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auroraphilealis · 7 years

Text

A Familiar Kind of Love Chapter Twenty-Two

A Familiar Kind of Love

Genre: Chaptered, ace/aro (flux and other experiences including but not limited to queerplatonic relationships), self discovery, witches, slow burn, getting together (eventually and in a mixed romantic/platonic way), RP format

Warnings: inaccurate herbology/plant & medicine stuff, self-esteem issues & confused hierarchy systems between familiars & witches (that does get resolved), threatened non-con (later, warned in chapter, and non-explicit), explicit discussions of nudity/sexual content but no actual smut, light experiences of ace/aro discrimination & feelings of discomfort/dysphoria during self-discovery, swearing

Summary: Born in a world full of magic, Dan spends his days running an apothecary and curing the sick. Potions and antidotes are his only friends, and he lives a happy life of quiet solitude - until a familiar he never wanted takes it all away. Forced to make a decision that’s life or death for one of them, Dan and Phil have to learn to co-exist together, entering a journey of self-discovery… and a familiar kind of love. Ace/Aro

Word Count: 15,410 this chapter

Thank you to @vanillasolitude who we could not have done this without. Every inch of their commentary and editing was a huge confidence boost, and we can not thank Emily enough for even being willing to do this with us. Seriously, it was a mammoth task and Emily just completely rose to the occasion, so giant thanks from us!

Updates: Monday & Wednesday & Friday

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil.

For reference, @insanityplaysfics is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(Previous) (Masterlist) (AO3)

insanityplaysfics: i truly can’t believe this is over. The amount of editing and rewriting that went into this last chapter alone is something you can’t quite imagine, and I think… is the best clumination of the entire fic. Of all the chapters, this is ultimately my favorite, and is everything that I wanted to do with this story. I am so, so thankful to ineverhadmyinternetphase for writing this with me, endlessly grateful to how much love she put into it, and all of the things that she taught me through it, and how much I feel that I personally grew. I don’t think we could have done this story in any different way, and I am forever grateful to the people who stuck by us from day one. All I can hope is that this story is for you guys what it is for me - and that’s a safe space for you to feel accepted and content as well. Thank you as well to vanillasolitute for her endless supply of notes and comments and help, and all the effort she put into this, because let me tell you, I know this was a wild ride for all of us. I truly could not have done this without both of these people, and our readers support means the world to me. Thank you for going on this journey with us, and I truly, truly hope you love what this final chapter brings. <3

Ineverhadmyinternetphase: just to echo what insanityplays already said, this fic is the single biggest project I have worked on to date and I’m so, so proud of what we achieved. This never would have happened if Eliza hadn’t indulged me in writing a character just like me, and I will be forever grateful to her for giving me the space to explore identity in such a fascinating way. Equally, I’m so proud of the world we created, bringing together magical and fantastical elements into what I hope reads as a well-rounded story. The comments from you guys have made every upload so special and I’m thrilled to see so many people understanding and resonating with this kind of experience. It makes me feel so much less alone. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart <3

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Three bottles of Caldrac, the tonic for Lily, and the butterbeer you were thinking about twenty minutes ago,” Phil said the moment that Dan walked through the door into his office about a week later, mouth open to ask for the items that Phil had already magicked his way. The butterbeer was Phil’s own recipe, something he’d made by accident one night when attempting to make a soufflé (and Dan had already made fun of him for messing that one up) but that Dan had come to love after he’d made sure it was safe to consume. From time to time, he’d ask Phil to make it, but most of the time, he’d think it so hard that Phil would make it for him anyway, sending it off to him either via his own magic, or by switching to his cat form and taking it downstairs.

Today, he was in his human form again, as he had been most of the last few days. The two still had plenty of grey days, but Phil’s were far less intense than Dan’s recently, and Dan hadn’t minded Phil being in his human form for the most part, so unless Phil was outside of the office or their house, he’d stayed human out of a sense of comfort.

“No need to thank me,” he teased, turning his gaze back to the time-sensitive potion he was currently brewing. It could, and would, blow up if Phil messed it up even by a second.

Dan snapped his mouth shut, staring at Phil with a mix of bemusement and happiness. In the end, he settled for a little exasperated sigh, folding his arms. “Yeah, right. If I don’t thank you, I’m never going to hear the end of it. Everything out of your mouth for the next decade will be, Oh, Dan, you have to do this thing because remember when I made you butterbeer and you didn’t say thank you?” Dan snorted, but there was affection in his tone and eyes as he regarded Phil.

He took a step closer, winding his hand around the mug and bringing it straight to his lips for an appreciative sip. On his way, he gently patted Phil’s hand. If he hadn’t been grey, he probably would’ve pulled Phil into a hug, maybe even kissed his cheek, but Dan had been getting steadily more grey throughout the day until now, and he felt much more comfortable without that kind of intensity.

He did moan a bit loud when he took a sip of the mug, though, and hummed happily as he grinned at Phil over the mug. “Okay, you win. Thank you very much, and as reward, you can go bring Lily her tonic. She loves you way more than me.”

Phil giggled as Dan teased him, knowing that the other male was right; if Dan didn’t speak up now, Phil was going to take advantage of his silence on the matter, and Dan would never hear the end of it. Phil’s favourite thing to do recently had definitely been to poke fun at Dan, and this was one of the easiest ways to do it, as it had taken a while for Dan to get with the program and realise that when Phil said “you don’t have to,” he really meant, “But if you don’t, I’ll hold it over your head.”

“Come on, Dan,” Phil argued. “You know I’m not like that,” he teased, watching as Dan picked up the mug Phil had prepared and drew it to lips, patting Phil’s hand lightly and letting Phil know that he was feeling particularly grey. The motion actually told Phil that his time as a human was up, now, and that it would be better for them both if he was in his cat form when he didn’t absolutely need to be human until Dan was feeling less grey.

Rolling his eyes at Dan’s backhanded thank you, Phil nodded nonetheless. “If you really want me to, I’ll go bring it to Lily,” he complained, drawing on Dan’s magic and taking the excuse to change forms by concentrating until he’d popped through the change and came back out the other end as the sleek black cat that Phil still felt most comfortable as.

Sweeping fondly against Dan’s legs as he walked past, the tonic floating neatly behind him, Phil rubbed his ear into Dan’s calf, and then sped past him with a quiet purr. “Feel free to stay up here,” he insisted, before he took his leave.

Dan snorted, placing his mug carefully back down again and giving Phil a little nudge before he returned to cat form. “You know as well as I do that you’re exactly like that,” he disagreed. “You’d never let me live it down.”

He sipped happily at his drink, sliding into the seat behind his desk as Phil changed forms and rubbed happily around his legs before disappearing with the tonic floating along behind him. Dan was getting more and more used to the sensation of Phil pinching a bit of his magic, and it felt kind of nice now, how the two of them melded together. Even when he was grey, Dan liked that.

He was looking forward to curling up later with Phil-cat sprawled across his lap. As much as he loved being held when he wasn’t grey, he also really loved Phil’s purrs. Still, he wouldn’t mind having a little bit of time to himself first, just to reorient his head after a busy day. Also, he felt kind of sweaty and gross after accidentally knocking into his venus fly-trap earlier and getting covered in soil, and he was itching for a long soak in the bath. He never felt completely comfortable doing that when Phil was in the house, though.

Feeling slightly awkward, but wanting to be honest, Dan nudged tentatively at the bond as he continued to sip at his butterbeer. Hey, I was kind of wanting to take a bath…are there other things you could do while you’re out before we cuddle later?

Phil had just dropped off the tonic with Lily when he felt a nudging sensation flood through their bond, and then Dan’s voice was there, hesitant and awkward and unsure. Phil had just been about ready to head back up to their house when the words hit him, and he frowned for a second before perking up and smiling, hoping that Dan would feel something akin to the sensation through the bond. Already, he’d changed course from heading back upstairs, and was making his way out of their store and out to PJ’s house.

Mara hadn’t been in the store again recently, and Phil was wondering if something was wrong. He’d been meaning to visit her for a while.

That’s fine. I’m going to go hang out with Mara, see how she’s doing, Phil agreed easily, sending good feelings through the bond to Dan and hoping it would calm him down. Just let me know when you want me home.

He had a feeling that Dan was going to need at least an hour.

Dan had never been more grateful to Phil than he was right in that moment. No sooner had he spoken the words, than he was getting flooded with soft feelings, gently reassuring him that Phil was fine, he understood, and he wasn’t offended. Dan had been blessed by a companion who understood the need for personal space, and occasional time alone. It meant more to Dan than he could say that Phil didn’t take it personally, but instead took it how it was meant.

You’re the best, he hummed happily back to Phil, answering the good feelings with a wriggle of his own happiness. I’ll be soaking for an hour or so, probably, need to get all this soil off me. Have fun with the raven. Dan couldn’t help the little hint of displeasure that accompanied that word - he just didn’t like the raven, okay? But he could handle Phil being friends with her, maybe. At least he was learning to curb his jealousy.

Dan happily made his way back down the stairs, locking up his office and checking on his shop floor before he headed up to his flat again. Everything was in order, exactly as it should be, and there were signs of Phil’s existence scattered everywhere by now; two plates in the sink rather than one, two creases on the sofa…three towels decorating the bathroom floor because Phil didn’t know how to clean up after a shower…

Dan shook his head with a fond smile, throwing them in the wash and collecting a fresh towel for himself, before he firmly closed and locked the bathroom door. He didn’t often spend time completely to himself anymore, and sometimes, he liked just having time to relax and be still. Plus, he could still feel Phil’s emotions fluctuating through the bond, and the reassurance that Phil was okay just made Dan even happier.

He started running the bath with a small smile on his face.

The trek to Mara’s house was always nice, especially when Phil knew that PJ wasn’t going to be around - he’d said something earlier about having plans for the night, but that Mara was home sick and would be around if Phil wanted to visit - making it easier to avoid interrupting any personal time they might be having. Dan wanting some alone time really couldn’t have come at a better time, especially considering that Phil really was quite worried about his friend, and so he was thinking on how he could cheer her up as he wandered through the streets of the city he’d once nearly destroyed.

That felt so long ago now. There had a been a time when Phil couldn’t even think about what he’d done without wanting to throw up, and now he was able to wander the streets peacefully without having to pop from place to place via his magic. It was nicer this way anyway, and allowed for Phil to actually get some fresh air and a change of scenery. It was nice scenery as well - ever since Phil had released himself of the guilt of what he’d done and started to wander the town he now lived in, he’d come to find it incredibly beautiful.

He could not be any more pleased that it was safe and not destroyed now, that Phil was alive to see it.

The closer Phil got to the raven’s home, however, the more his sense of dread began to build. Familiars were quite attuned to each other, and Phil had felt unease prickling at him for days, weeks even, but never as intense as it was bothering him now.

Suddenly, Phil wished he’d thought to check in on his friend much sooner than now. There was a pit in his stomach that something was really, really wrong, and then he was turning the corner onto Mara’s street and realised there was smoke coming out of one of the windows.

Had he existed in any other world than this, Phil might have been terrified by the sight, possibly even assuming the worst, but he knew Mara was a familiar and that strong emotions could sometimes make her magic go out of control. That knowledge allowed Phil to merely pause and watch with trepidation in his heart until the smoke quite suddenly and impressively disappeared. Phil let out a sigh of relief at that, because it meant, if nothing else, Mara was still very much in control. That was a good sign, even though nothing else was, and suddenly, PJ not coming home that night made a lot more sense.

Mara was clearly hurting, and Phil hated himself a little bit for having taken so long to notice. He didn’t know what was going on with her, but it was more than obvious it had to do with her witch. Most things when it came to familiars had to do with their witches, the only person in their lives they cared about more than anything else.

Phil sighed. His heart ached for his friend. He’d noticed over the last few weeks that something was off, but he hadn’t put two and two together until now, too locked up in his own flourishing relationship with Dan to pay attention to his friend, and for all that he felt bad about it, he was going to do everything in his power to make up for it now.

And that started with getting up to Mara’s apartment and having a good old fashioned talk with her.

Choosing to forego his usual niceties, Phil channeled his magic the way Dan had taught him, rather than acting on instinct alone, and popped himself into the living room of the home he most wanted to visit.

Mara was in a frightful state when he arrived. The second Phil set eyes on her, his heart lurched, because her feathers were a mess and she was molting. The only thing that could cause such a thing would be her mood being far worse than Phil had ever even anticipated, and for a moment, he was too stunned to do anything.

He’d so rarely seen familiars in such a horrid state, their feathers, fur, or skin lacking that shine that Phil’s fur kept, lacking that delightful aura of magic shared between both witch and familiar, and their bodies beginning to deteriorate until they appeared nothing short of sick. Mara appeared sick. Mara had clearly been suffering for a long, long time, and Phil hated himself in that moment for not being there, for not noticing when Mara stopped showing up to work with PJ, when PJ stopped going home.

Where she was sat only added to the horrible image before him. Her small body was shaking on the bare floor of a blackened kitchen, the wreckage of countertops, storage space, and food littering the area around her in a perfect circle of destruction.

It was absolutely pitiful, and Phil’s heart broke for her.

Not wanting to startle the raven who clearly hadn’t noticed his approach yet, Phil took a cautious step forward and let out a pitiful little meow. “Mara?” he added, the call quiet and uncertain.

Slowly, the raven turned to Phil with dark, beady eyes, her wings fluttering uselessly at her sides, like she was uncertain whether or not she should be upset right now. It took a moment, but Phil was able to recognise the sheen of tears in her eyes, and let out a small whimper of his own.

“Mara,” he said again, this time even more quietly, and fell into a sitting position, making his body small and compact so he’d appear as less of a threat. “I’m sorry,” he added, and lowered his gaze.

Mara cawed at him, and hopped over, her legs frail and her wings useless, until she huddled right alongside Phil’s long form. Slowly, she collapsed, her beak landing on top of Phil’s head, where his ears twitched against her, and her wings pressing achingly into his fur.

“Hello, Phil,” she greeted, and her voice was gravelly and sad, heartbroken.

Phil whined again for her, and rolled over, eyes closing as he lay on his side for Mara, who collapsed fully on him until they were both just laying down, curled up together, just beyond the remains of a tattered kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said again, not expecting a response. He didn’t get one, and he started to purr gently instead, the sound as steady and quiet as he could make it in a raw attempt to soothe her.

An hour passed before they spoke again, and it was Mara who pulled away, inviting Phil to the sofa with her. For the very first time, Mara changed form in front of Phil, and a beautiful dark-skinned lady appeared in front of him, hair nearly as dark as Phil’s but done up in beautiful braids. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she was sniffling, but there was a sad kind of smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Well, here I am,” she greeted, to which Phil stopped and stared up at her, debating whether or not he should change forms as well. It wasn’t until the tears started to fall faster and faster down her cheeks, face crumpling in pain, that Phil transformed entirely on instinct, taking on his human features and reaching for the girl he’d known since childhood instantly. She was in his arms before he knew it, burying her face in the crook of his neck where only Dan had ever touched before. Phil couldn’t help hoping that Dan wouldn’t mind as he wrapped his arms securely around his friend while she bunched her fingers into the front of his shirt, crying steadily and heartbreakingly against Phil’s ear.

“Oh Mara,” he whispered, and held her tighter still, burying his own face into her hair and hugging her for as long as she needed.

It turned out that was less than a few minutes as she pulled herself together and then quite suddenly dragged herself out of Phil’s arms, wiping impatiently at her eyes and shaking herself a little.

“Sorry, sorry,” she insisted, sounding angry at herself. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, I just-”. She didn’t finish her sentence, instead inhaling sharply and biting down so hard on her lips that Phil thought she was going to make herself bleed.

“Mara, please,” he whispered, and went to reach for her. Mara shook her head, opening her eyes and letting her lip go all at one time.

“Please don’t,” she replied back.

“Okay,” Phil said instantly, and put his hands up in front of himself cautiously. Mara was eyeing him, clearly terrified, and it only made Phil’s heart ache more because he didn’t understand what she was terrified of.

With another small whimper, Mara collapsed on the sofa behind her, and curled up in the corner, legs drawn tight to her chest as she wrapped her arms around them to keep them close. Tentatively, Phil followed her lead, sitting at the far end of the same sofa and staring at her with kind eyes.

They were quiet, again.

“Mara?” Phil eventually asked, He didn’t reach for her again, but he was sorely tempted. She was staring with glassy eyes at the far corner of the room, and it terrified Phil to see her look so empty. “Mara, hey. Please. Talk to me?” he offered once more.

Mara shook her head.

“Please, Mara. Please. You know you can tell me anything. It doesn’t help to hold it in. You need to talk about your feelings. Is this about PJ?”

The name seeme to snap something in Mara, because she was crying again before Phil knew it, sobbing into her knees, her small frame shaking from her position on the sofa. Feeling absolutely useless, Phil could only stare, eyes pleading with her to just look at him.

“He’s leaving me!” Mara eventually burst out with, her chest heaving with held back emotion as she tore her arms away from herself and stood up to start pacing. “He’s leaving me, and it’s all because I can’t give him what he wants!” she wailed, and then she was shoving her face into her hands all over again, shoulders shaking as she came to a halt in front of Phil.

Still too afraid to go against her wishes and reach out to touch, Phil merely stared at her.

“Mara,” he whispered, biting his bottom lip.

She inhaled sharply, and clearly made an effort to pull herself together. Phil wanted to tell her no, stop, let it out, but he held himself back, watching her struggle to come to terms with what she was saying.

When she didn’t speak again for some time, Phil tentatively spoke up.

“What do you mean, he’s leaving you? What aren’t you giving him? Mara, you’re soulmates, I -”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Mara practically screeched, whirling on Phil with a dark frown etched deep on her features. “And stop looking at me like that!” she insisted, her pain turning to anger so quickly that Phil heard another explosion come from the kitchen.

He jumped, startled, only for Mara to flick an impatient hand in the direction of the accidental burst of magic, and wave it away.

Phil didn’t see what had caught on fire, or what had been destroyed this time, but he did see the smoke quickly clear.

“Mara,” he tried to say, but she cut him off before he could continue.

“Don’t, Phil. Don’t act like - don’t act like just because everything is perfect with you and Dan right now that you can offer me any sort of advice. I’ve been at this game far longer than you have, don’t you think I know what PJ and I are? Don’t you think I know better than you what it is to be a witch’s familiar? You’re so young and naïve -” her voice cracked and she suddenly started to cry again, shoulders shaking with the held back emotion.

Phil knew she didn’t meant that. Phil knew she was just upset. But the words still hurt, they still stung. Still, this was his friend, and he wasn’t going to leave her just because she’d said a few cruel words to him.

“Mara, don’t talk like that. Just because you’ve been doing this longer doesn’t mean I can’t help. You can’t just be alone in this,” he insisted, his voice pleading. Mara hardly seemed to be listening though, chuckling darkly and tossing her head as more tears careened down her cheeks.

“You don’t get it, Phil,” she dismissed, but Phil wasn’t having it.

“So then, tell me!” he insisted, “Because I’m not just going to leave you to suffer this on your own!”

With a frustrated whine, Mara threw her hands up, and just like that, all the lightbulbs in the apartment went out in a loud burst of shattering glass, and they were both left blind.

For all of a second, Phil panicked, heart beating fast in his chest. The fear was all too real, but he did his best to reign it back in and started to reach for his magic, drawing on its strength as he tried to get the lights to come back on again. His heart was racing, and he could hear Mara crying, and he wanted to do something, but she’d basically told him not to touch her again. The lights wouldn’t go back on, though, like something heavy was weighing on them all, and then Phil heard the sound of Mara’s body shuffling frighteningly close - until she was sat directly in his lap.

The lights went back on then, purely from Phil’s fear, from the uncomfortable feeling radiating through him at having anyone in his lap like this. He went to reach for Mara, to shove her off, but she got there first, reaching for Phil’s face and grasping hard at his cheeks before he could stop her.

“I just don’t understand!” she wailed, shaking Phil and staring at him far too close for comfort, her body hot and soft and wrong against his.

“Mara - Mara, I don’t -”

“I don’t - I don’t want the same things as him, but I’m supposed to! And I don’t understand! He hates me, Phil, he hates me! What if I’m not meant to be his familiar, what if I made a mistake? I just - I don’t… I don’t know what to do,” she wailed, and held onto Phil’s face even tighter than before.

Phil’s hands were frozen at his sides, but his skin was prickling uncomfortably and he wanted nothing more than to shove this person off of him. Everything about this felt wrong, sexual in nature, uncomfortable. He’d never been touched like this by anyone but Dan, and he’d never known how disgusting it could make him feel.

“Mara, please,” Phil whimpered, staring up at her with begging eyes because he didn’t even want to touch her, not like this. Not when she was in his lap. As a hug, sure, as a cat, fine, but not like this.

Mara cried harder.

“Even you don’t want me!” she whined, squeezing her eyes shut with a loud wail of pain that Phil did not understand. “What’s wrong with me!?” she asked, but Phil didn’t even know what was wrong, and then, quite suddenly, Mara’s face was even closer than before until she was gasping in Phil’s face, snot and tears dripping onto his skin, lips far too close to his own for comfort.

“Why don’t I want this?” she asked, and tried to kiss him.

Something erupted from Phil then, and he panicked, magic bursting out of him in a way it hadn’t in ages. Before he could stop himself, he was flinging Mara across the room and out of his lap, standing up abruptly and curling into himself with the sudden, desperate desire to get out of there.

He was frozen in place, though, shocked and scared and staring at Mara with wide, terrified eyes.

She cried harder, then, from where she’d fallen on her bum practically across the living room.

“I just don’t understand! I didn’t even want to kiss you!” she wailed, and shook on the ground. “You have it so easy, being all gross and in love. I bet it’s easy for you to kiss Dan!” she complained, and turned hostile, wet eyes onto Phil. “You have it so, so fucking easy, Phil!”

But Phil just shook his head.

“You don’t know anything about our relationship, Mara!” Phil shouted instantly, heart racing and dreadfully hurt by her words. This wasn’t even something he felt comfortable talking about, not when it had taken him so long to come to terms with and understand his own wants and desires from Dan.

Mara laughed humorlessly at him, shaking her head.

“Is that why you wouldn’t kiss me, then? Because you haven’t gotten to that part, yet?” she asked, and laughed again. “God, you really are naïve. Just wait, Phil. One day, down the road, your witch is going to want nothing but sex and kisses from you, and then where will you be? Right here with me.”

Phil blanched, mouth screwing up in pain.

“Mara, that’s not fair,” he complained. “That’s not how it has to be.”

“And how would you know, Phil? Have you ever even kissed your witch? That’s exactly how it’s meant to be,” she shot back, venomous as more tears streaked down her cheeks and she finally climbed back up onto her feet.

“You’re meant to share everything with your witch, give him everything he needs. Don’t you know that means your body too? Not just your heart, not just your soul - no, that’s not enough. He’ll take everything from you Phil, and there’s nothing that you’ll ever be able to do about it. And if you don’t give that to him, don’t give him sex and blowjobs and anything else that he asks of you, then he’s just going to leave and get it from somewhere else!” she spat.

Phil’s heart hurt. He wanted to cry even more than before, and his mind was swirling with such mixed emotions that he didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, he knew that Mara was wrong, knew that what she was saying was coming from a place of hurt and misunderstanding on her own part, but the words hit home, hit every insecurity that Phil had ever had about Dan and then some. He knew that she was projecting her own situation onto Phil, knew nothing of Dan and Phil’s relationship, and yet it still struck him until all he could feel was panic that somehow, someway, she was right.

“I’m broken,” she wailed, and suddenly, she was crying again.

“I can’t love him like that, and he hates me for it.”

Doing his damned best to pull himself together, Phil shook his head and bit his lip.

“Not - not every familiar has to be in love with their witch. Not every pair want to be… want that kind of soulmate,” he insisted with a determined shake of his head.

“Yes they do!” Mara shouted over him, rushing at him like she was going to attack him.

Phil yelped and took a terrified step back, but she didn’t touch him again.

“Yes they do!” she said again. “And the sooner you realise that, the better!”

But Phil wasn’t having any of that. He might not fully understand what he and Dan had together, didn’t fully understand what he was or why he didn’t want the things that appeared so normal to the rest of the world, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Mara had to be wrong.

So he stood up straight and he turned and he faced her with the deadliest expression he could manage.

“No, you’re wrong. And the sooner you realise that, the better!” he growled, towering over her and watching her cower. “You’re just too scared to talk to your witch, too scared to find out that you’re different from what the world taught you that you should be. But the familiar’s wants and desires matter too, and if your witch is the right witch, then there is no doubt in my mind that they’ll want the exact same things as you do! You don’t have to give PJ any of that, and he shouldn’t ask you for that, and that’s okay. He’s still yours, and he’s still your soulmate, and you’re still the number one person in his life!”

Phil’s chest was heaving by the time he was done, and Mara was staring up at him in absolute awe and pain.

“Talk to your witch, Mara, and stop letting society dictate to you what’s right and what’s wrong.”

Phil didn’t stick around a second longer, revulsion still crawling under his skin at the way it had felt to have Mara touching him, in his lap, leaning forward to kiss him. In an instant, he was popping back home with tears of his own in his eyes, because for everything that he’d said to Mara… he was terrified that in some ways, he was wrong.

Was it really normal to not want to have sex with your witch, to not want to be intimate in that way? Was it really normal to love them one day, and love them the next?

Dan had been relaxing in the bath for almost an hour, happy, until things started to go sour the way they always did if he was left alone for too long. Dan knew his own tendency to get lost in his head, and years of living alone had taught him mostly how to handle it so he wouldn’t end up caught in a dark cycle that had left him on the floor one too many times. As soon as his thoughts started to drift, though, Dan was up and out of the bath, reaching for some happy music to play on his phone while he towelled himself dry.

Dan’s lips twitched when one particular song came on his playlist. Phil had added this one. There had been a delightful afternoon, early on in them learning about living together, when Phil had seen Dan using his phone for the first time and nearly had a heart attack when music sounded from it. Dan had laughed, until Phil whacked him with a paw and yowled at him to explain. Since then, Phil had grown all but captivated by the little device, and he was forever sneaking it away from Dan and adding to the playlist some of his own favourite songs.

This was one of those, some dancey number that Dan wouldn’t personally have chosen. It was a bit… bright, for his tastes. That fit Phil, though, with Phil being the much brighter side of Dan’s soft but sometimes sad demeanour. He couldn’t help but smile as he dressed himself in his pyjamas to the happy little song.

He was just settling down in the living room and flicking on a new episode of the show he and Phil had started watching together when the first ripple of bad echoed through the bond.

Dan sat straight up in an instant. He’d been trying to get better at paying more attention to the bond, especially when they were apart, and so at the first sign of trouble he was diving straight into it and nudging his way into Phil’s eyes, the way Phil had shown him how to do. He couldn’t sense any of Phil’s actual thoughts this way, but he could see and hear everything that Phil saw and heard.

There was a strange woman in front of him, a woman that Dan had never seen before, but he gathered from the fact that they were in PJ’s house that it must be the raven. Dan flinched, almost withdrawing - there was something kind of wrong about seeing the human form of someone else’s familiar - but before he knew it, she was speaking cruel, harsh, false words, and Phil was recoiling and reprimanding her.

But something worse was still to come. As Dan watched through horrified eyes, Mara approached Phil and actually sat on him, on his lap, making herself far too comfortable there for his preference. Jealousy flared in Dan, along with something very close to outrage, especially because he could feel through the bond echoes of Phil’s own discomfort, entirely separate from Dan’s.

Phil didn’t want her there any more than Dan did.

But from there, things only got worse. Mara’s words cut deep, her obvious turmoil disappearing in favour of the pain she caused. Dan felt it lance through him, piercing right to his deepest fears until he was tottering back down onto the sofa cushions, his eyes wide.

She… she wasn’t right, was she?

Dan had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough. If he was completely honest with himself, a big reason why he’d shut himself out of the world of familiars had been from a deep-seated fear that something was just… wrong with him. That he was missing out on something, that he wasn’t good enough as he was. He’d been running from those fears for as long as he could remember, and the easiest way had been to just cut himself off from other people. PJ aside, because PJ had seemed to understand him on some level, but the raven had always kept her distance.

…Could this be why?

If Dan was reading her words right, and he was still reeling, then maybe she’d been fearing the same things he had this whole time. She’d rarely gone anywhere without PJ by her side, and never spoken to Dan alone. Dan had always assumed it was because she’d had some sense that something was wrong with him, but what if, really, she feared the same things he did? What if she’d avoided him because he reminded her too much of herself?

Dan’s mind was running away with itself, but he forced himself to concentrate, to keep linked to Phil and not run away in his own mind. His instincts were to lock himself out of Phil and run away, especially as he’d been feeling grey all day, but a stronger, bigger part of him knew that wasn’t the right reaction. That whatever he might be thinking, Mara was wrong.

Phil had proved that, after all. Phil agreed with Dan about space, wanted (and didn’t want) all the same things as Dan. They matched perfectly, and things had been so good lately. Dan had finally started to feel accepted, finally begun to believe that nothing was wrong with him after all. All he’d been missing out on was Phil, and now he had Phil in every possible way he wanted him, and everything was perfect. They had their own system for caring for each other’s needs, and neither of them wanted anything else.

Dan clung to that, clung to the soft memories he’d made with Phil, and shoved away any and all of Mara’s poisonous words. She was wrong. She was. And she’d touched his Phil in a way Phil clearly hadn’t wanted her to, and Dan needed to fix that as quickly as possible, to wipe away any and all traces of herself that she’d shoved onto Phil. Anger curled through Dan even at the thought.

No, there was no way he was listening to anything she said ever again.

Dan got straight back up to his feet, wanting nothing more than to reach for Phil and remind him that Mara was wrong, that the rules didn’t apply to them. He didn’t have long to wait, either, as almost immediately Phil was popping suddenly into existence in a way that still made Dan jump, and then he was standing in the middle of Dan’s floor in human form, just kind of hovering there and making little hiccupy noises.

Dan swallowed back his greyness in favour of striding forward and pulling Phil into a close hug. He always enjoyed cuddling, anyway, whether he was grey or not, and he knew Phil would never push the boundaries beyond what he was comfortable with, so Dan simply tucked Phil’s head into his neck and held him tight, offering what little comfort he could.

“She’s wrong,” Dan promised softly, hoping Phil wouldn’t be mad that he’d kind of been spying on their conversation. “We don’t have to be like that. She’s wrong.”

Phil hated crying more than he hated anything else in the world. His throat would close up, and his nose got all stuffy, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of the choked up sounds he’d make when he really got going. He didn’t cry like that all that often, but he could feel the sensation starting to crawl into his throat already, and before he knew it, he was making small, choked, hiccupy noises as his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the tears already started to drip down his face.

There was just so much. The feeling of Mara touching him still ached under his skin, and his heart was racing so fast in his chest because what if she was right? What if, one day, Dan decided he did want those things that Phil didn’t want, and what if one day he went out and found someone who did, the way Mara seemed to be afraid PJ was doing to him?

It wasn’t fair, and right then, Phil was more angry at Mara than he wanted to be. He was supposed to be there for her right now, but he couldn’t be when he was freaking out because of what she’d said to him. Phil was so, so tired of people trying to dictate how his life was going to be - the familiars back at home, society here, and now even his only true friend. It wasn’t fair, and everything she’d said still hurt more than Phil could say, even when he knew she hadn’t meant any of it at all. It was obvious to him she was just reacting, and she could hardly be blamed for doing just that, but that didn’t change the way she’d left him to feel.

Before Phil knew it, Dan was drawing him into his arms, cradling Phil’s head to chest and speaking words of comfort into his ear, voice low and comforting and kind. It didn’t even register to Phil what he was saying for a minute, he was so taken by surprise that Dan was holding him at all when he knew his witch had been feeling grey that day, that his witch had been waiting to cuddle Phil as a cat rather than a human, but when he did register the words, he let out a horrified wail and really began to cry.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore when Dan was holding him like this, when Dan was loving him like this and trying to keep him safe and cared for. He wailed into Dan’s chest, and just kind of held him back, because he couldn’t understand why no one seemed to validate what he had with Dan when it was just as good as whatever people considered a traditional tale of romance.

Mara was wrong. Phil had everything, right here and now, and nothing was going to change… right?

Phil just wanted to be normal, and he didn’t feel normal. He didn’t want people dictating his life anymore, and as much as he’d wanted to be there for Mara when she was not okay, he couldn’t face it when she wanted to drag Phil down with her.

Dan wrapped his arms tighter around Phil, his heart breaking at the broken wail Phil made as he pressed his head into Dan’s chest. Dan cradled him close, gently stroking through his hair with one hand and making soothing noises, his other hand wrapped tight around Phil’s waist. This much close contact was a bit much for him, if he was honest, especially with Phil still being human, but at the same time Dan could overcome his momentary shudder in favour of making sure Phil was okay.

Was Phil okay, though? He was clutching tight to Dan and wailing, and the bond was filled with sadness and confusion and so much hurt. Dan just wanted to take it all away. He’d punch that stupid raven next time he saw her for making his Phil feel like this, like there was something wrong with them when honestly, Dan couldn’t imagine ever being happier. Never mind the fact that she’d forced herself on him.

Dan was furious. He was furious with the way Mara had come along and forced all these problems into their relationship right when things were finally starting to be ok. Dan had started to dare to be happy with Phil. He liked that they ironed out their own boundaries, that they were building this beautiful thing where they could each get just as much contact as they wanted, no more and no less. He felt loved by Phil, and he loved Phil in return, and wasn’t that really what all this was supposed to be about? Shouldn’t that be the most important thing? Why did Mara have to force something, and how dare she try and force herself onto Phil just because Phil wasn’t going after those sorts of things?

Plus, Mara had dared to presume things about their relationship that just weren’t true. Dan flinched when he remembered how she’d screamed that one day Dan was going to hurt Phil, that he’d only want Phil for his body. That couldn’t be further from the truth, and he shuddered and held Phil tighter against him even at the thought.

What they had already was perfect. Dan would be damned if he let some stupid raven get in the way of their happiness. He was going to figure it out, why he and Phil were so different to the rest of the world. No matter what it took, he’d figure it out, for Phil’s sake, so that Phil didn’t have to go through this anymore.

“We’re going to be okay,” Dan promised quietly, his voice a low rumble against Phil’s ear. “All that matters is that we’re both happy, and I literally could not be happier with you, Phil.”

It had been less than six days since the last time they’d had to have this conversation, less than six days since Phil had thought he was okay, and now the same conversation they’d already had to have once was being forced down Phil’s throat to be had again, and he hated it. He hated constantly being made to question whether or not what he had with Dan was right and okay and good. He knew he shouldn’t be letting Mara get into his head like this, but he couldn’t help it when he already felt so insecure.

The other problem was how badly Phil needed comfort, knowing as he did that right now, Dan was feeling grey and wouldn’t normally be wanting to hold Phil in this form at all. He felt terrible for making Dan hold him right then, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away when his chest hurt so much and he felt so hollow. He felt so hollow as he sobbed, the sounds hiccuping and loud, but everything was just wrong, and Mara had been touching him in ways that Phil never wanted anyone to touch him ever again - except maybe Dan, but even Dan wouldn’t mean it with the intent that Mara had. All Phil could really do right now was hope that Dan did not hate him for this.

He promised himself that as soon as he had himself more under control, he would pull himself together and switch forms for Dan, because the last thing he wanted to do was make this all messy for Dan when Dan was in a mood as it was. Dan never pushed Phil, and Phil would never push Dan in return.

“I love you,” Phil said, and he could hear himself that there was something in his voice far different to normal, that he meant the words in a very different way than normal. He almost wanted to take them back, but he couldn’t, choking on the very thought. “I just. Don’t want anyone to dictate how I should feel anymore. I’m scared that one day I’m going to turn around and even you - even you think we should be different. I never expected this when I came to your world. I never expected things to be… different.”

Dan leaned back to meet Phil’s eyes, slowly and carefully, because he didn’t want to surprise Phil with any sudden unwanted intimacy. But at the same time, this was important for them to iron out. Dan could see how much this issue was affecting them, and he hated it, but clearly they needed some added clarification and some definite idea of exactly what they were to each other for this to ever work out.

This was hurting Phil, and that meant Dan would never be okay with it.

“I love you too,” Dan answered, the same fierce intensity behind his words as there was when Phil said them. It felt like they were on another level, but it was the only right level - it was the only way Dan could express just what Phil was to him. Phil was his other half, the one who fulfilled him, the one who made his life warm and happy and better.

“I love you, Phil,” Dan said again, and he lifted one thumb to wipe away some of the tears under Phil’s eyes. Although this was intimate, it was on a different level - not romantic, no, this was so much more than romantic. It was a completely different plane, one where Phil was everything to Dan, and Dan could be everything to him, too. “No one has to dictate how we are around each other, Phil, literally the only thing that could ever matter is how we feel. And I love you, I love you so much.”

He drew back, then, releasing Phil from his hold but keeping one hand held tightly in his, because he could tell that Phil needed it right then. Perhaps he needed the reassurance that Dan really was happy with this, that Dan was never going to want something other. What they had was everything to him already.

Phil couldn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling as Dan drew away from his slowly, staring into Phil’s eyes and saying I love you with the same intensity that Phil had said it, with the same strength and meaning and energy as Phil had given him, reaching down to grab both of Phil’s hands in his as he said it again, brown eyes boring into Phil’s. There was a warmth and energy there that put Phil at ease, at least for now, and at least enough to make him feel like he really was going to be okay. Dan loved him, and whatever this was, was so much more than whatever Mara had been talking about when she’d asked Phil if he’d ever fallen in love.

This was… this was an entirely different thing, on an entirely different plane of existence, that meant so much more than anything Phil had ever seen anyone else have on TV. If all love was was what was on TV, then Phil didn’t want it. He wanted this.

As Dan spoke, Phil couldn’t help tearing up some more, the tears dripping down his cheeks as he listened and tried to hold back those wailing sobs that were welling in him again. This time, this time it was more than fear and sadness, it was gratefulness that someone could love him so much, and could want him to be happy so much, that they could reassure him in this. Dan had to be getting tired of this, not to mention he was probably feeling too grey for this, and yet Phil could not appreciate him more than he did in that moment.

“Come with me,” Dan said, voice commanding. “I’m getting my laptop, and we’re looking this up. And don’t fight me,” he forestalled Phil’s objections with a raised brow, “Because I know you said you don’t want someone else’s opinion, but this has upset you for too long and I won’t have it. We’re going to find out that there is nothing wrong with us, once and for all. Because there isn’t. There’s nothing wrong with you, Phil, and you aren’t missing out on anything. Other than a witch who’s a bit better at talking about their feelings than I am,” Dan confessed with a small wink, his hand still tight in Phil’s.

Phil’s breathing hitched when Dan pulled away from him though, and he almost protested when Dan insisted they go and look up what they were experiencing, but Dan’s words stopped him cold in his tracks until he was left staring at Dan with a stunned awe at the power and control in his witch’s words.

The tension was broken by Dan winking, and Phil coughed out a half-laugh, half-sob, following the other male as he steered Phil back over to the sofa and forced him to sit down. Immediately afterwards, he was off to get his laptop, and Phil was left to his own thoughts.

All he could really do was hope that Dan was right, and that there really was nothing wrong with him, that he wasn’t missing anything and that he was right. Mara had to be wrong. What Phil had with Dan felt like so much more, felt so much better. He shoved his face in his hands, and just kind of let himself cry.

When Dan reappeared with his laptop, it was to find Phil sitting curled up on the sofa with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. Dan’s heart tore a bit again. As soon as he could, he had his laptop open and loading and an arm around Phil, settling next to him on the sofa and pulling until he had Phil leaning completely against him.

“I promise it’s okay,” Dan murmured, though he thought Phil already knew that. The issue wasn’t that Dan and Phil felt okay, the issue was that everyone in the world kept telling them they shouldn’t. Well, Dan was going to prove them all wrong. Especially that stupid raven.

Pressing a quick kiss to the top of Phil’s head, Dan didn’t remove his arm once his laptop finally loaded. He just used his weaker right hand to open up a search engine, the fingers of his left rubbing soothingly against Phil’s shoulder.

It was then that Dan realised he actually didn’t have any idea what to type.

He paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to word this without instantly cringing or getting completely grossed out. In the end, he settled on typing in ‘relationship not romantic not sexual’, and took a deep breath before hitting enter.

The results that flashed up took his breath away.

At first, he’d been scared that he’d be met with nothing but ridicule and laughter, or websites that were trying to 'fix’ the 'problem’. What he got instead was a plethora of sites that suggested new words with new definitions, things he’d never heard of before that seemed to describe a whole new world; one he fit in with much better.

Dan nudged Phil gently, clicking on a link with word definitions and pointing to it with his chin. “Phil, look. Look at this, we’re not the only ones.” The list ranged through a whole host of words Dan had never heard of before, things like asexual and aceflux and demisexual and aromantic and queerplatonic. Although the sheer number of new definitions was a little overwhelming, Dan was already excited, because this was exactly what Phil needed.

Reassurance that they weren’t alone.

Phil’s worst fear had always been that he’d spend his whole life alone. When you lived in a world where most of your companions concern was finding and knowing how to be with their witch, there wasn’t much room to form close bonds. In fact, most of the other familiars that Phil knew, he knew very little about other than their thoughts and dreams for the future. Once a familiar found their witch, they often ceased to exist to the other familiars, and it was completely normal, but Phil had always hated it - always hated feeling so alone in the world while he waited to find Dan.

Now, that fear was only growing, becoming all consuming as Dan wrapped his arm around Phil’s shoulders and dragged him in, fingers tracing loving, reassuring designs into Phil’s skin. This embrace should make him feel happy, but all he could feel was anger at himself that he was making Dan hold him when his witch was feeling so grey as it was. The last thing Phil had ever wanted to do was to push Dan into something he couldn’t handle at any given point in time, but Phil didn’t have the strength to pull away or even attempt to change his form, because his heart hurt and he needed to feel human right now.

He just wanted to fit in, to have a community and people who loved him just the way he was. Phil was tired of changing, of thinking he had to be different than what he was to fit into some kind preformed box the world had created for him, be it the familiars of his world, or the movies of this world.

So when Dan nudged at him, and said that they weren’t alone, Phil opened his eyes slowly, not knowing if this was something he could truly believe.

And yet it was there, sat right on the screen, in bold letters: words and definitions, forums that made Phil’s stomach churn to even see. There were so many words, so many definitions, so many labels that Phil didn’t even want to learn, but his eyes kept flashing over people begging for help, and terms that described what Phil had been feeling for months now as Dan slowly scrolled down the page, just letting Phil’s eyes dart about everywhere as he tried to take it all in.

Ace, Aro, flux, queerplatonic, okay. Phil was okay. No one could take this away from him or invalidate him, because he was okay.

Slowly, Phil turned a wet gaze up to Dan and just stared at him.

“So I’m okay?” he whispered. “We’re okay? And you’re not - you’re not gonna wake up and want to leave me one day?”

Dan kept his gaze constantly on Phil, watching the way his eyes widened as he took in the words on Dan’s laptop screen. The shock and sheer hope on his face was enough to convince Dan that this had been the right thing to do - that Phil needed this, needed to see they weren’t the only ones. Whether they picked out definite labels or not didn’t matter, it just mattered that they weren’t alone.

Dan, too, was a little happier when he saw that they weren’t the only ones. It had never bothered him, not really, to be different, but there was a strange new comfort in seeing it in black and white.

He met Phil’s eyes and winced, because Phil really had believed there was something wrong with him, hadn’t he? He’d really believed that Dan could just decide to up and leave him one day, when the complete opposite was true. Dan tried to think of it, to think of pushing Phil out of his life, and he shuddered. The bond tugged on him endlessly, and he welcomed it. His days of loneliness were long over and he couldn’t imagine ever going back, not anymore.

“Phil,” Dan answered softly, “Of course I’m not going to leave you. When I think of my future, I think of…us. Making potions, figuring out new ways to use our magic, the look on your face when you try new food for the first time, the way it feels when I manage to make you laugh. Knowing I could turn around at any minute and you’d be right there. That’s all I want, Phil.”

He reached out to cup Phil’s cheek, gently, not leaning in, instead just holding them both together. “We’re always connected, and you’re the best person in the entire universe. Why on earth would I ever want something different to this?”

Phil was left staring and blinking at Dan, heart swelling with so much emotion, eyes prickling with more unshed tears. It was just that he’d never thought that any of this was going to happen - the confusion, the heartbreak, the fear - when he’d come to Earth. He’d just thought that everything would slot into place, and that Dan, and him, or his body, and Dan’s instincts, would tell them what to do. So far, that hadn’t happened. So far, they’d both had to muddle through this like two very confused idiots, figuring out what they wanted rather than just listening to what the world said they should - and while that was technically good, it was so much harder. So much harder, because it had left Phil with the sense that something was wrong with him, and that he wasn’t doing this right, and that one day someone who did know what they were doing would come along and steal Dan right out from under him.

But no, Dan was promising Phil that when he thought of a future, he thought of one with Phil there. He thought of things the way they were, with both men happy and content with the way things were, working together and trying new things, and always, always making each other laugh and happy and keeping each other there.

Phil was an idiot. Why had he spent so much time letting other people’s world views taint his own when Dan had always been right there, willing and ready to promise himself to Phil in every way?

“I’m scared I’m not enough,” Phil whispered, then, getting to the heart of the matter, because how could Dan promise himself to Phil when he felt like this? “I’m so scared I’m not giving you everything you need. I don’t know what’s wrong with Mara and PJ, but she scared me today because they aren’t even together anymore. What if that happens to us? I just. Can you - can we look at all this? Can you show me what you feel, and I can show you what I feel? Maybe… maybe if we understand it better I’ll feel safer…” he mumbled, trailing off, unsure.

Dan’s first instinct was to jump right in there and tell Phil that of course he was enough, of course there was nothing wrong with him and Dan could never want anything else in life. Hell, Dan hadn’t even wanted this at first, because this had been too much for him. The thought of ever wanting anything more was completely crazy.

But that wasn’t what Phil needed to hear. Phil needed something more concrete, something more definite, so he’d feel safe and sure and secure in the knowledge that he was already giving Dan everything he wanted and more. Dan could give him that.

“Of course,” he answered finally, and turned back to the laptop, pulling up the definitions sheet again. “Let’s - I know, how about this? We could both make lists, using this as a guide,” he waved a hand at the screen, “Make a list of what we want, what we would maybe be okay with, and what we definitely don’t want. Then we can compare lists and see how well we match up. Does that sound good?” He turned to Phil with a small smile, eyes focused. “It’s important that you know how much I need you.”

Phil was shaking, which he was pretty sure was silly all things considered, as Dan regarded him for a moment before turning back to his laptop with a prompt “Of course,” clicking around until he’d come back to the page full of definitions - there was an overwhelming amount of them, and the sight of them both made Phil’s insides tremble in glee and in terror that there was so much there. Already, his eyes had scanned over words and phrases that felt right, but he was still afraid that nothing was going to fit and that he was going to find out that he really wasn’t what Dan wanted, despite Dan’s reassurances that he was.

He tore terrified eyes away from the screen of Dan’s laptop as his witch suggested a way for them to feel comfortable around each other, and slowly, Phil nodded, already magicking two pads of paper and two pens out of thin air and into their hands in his haste to feel better.

“You have to write everything though,” Phil muttered. “Like. What you want every time you want something different,” he clarified, staring worriedly at the screen and trying to find that word again, just to make sure it really was real - flux. Flux. Fluxy, flux. There, there, right there. Phil’s eyes lit up, and he stifled a small noise of surprise and excitement at seeing it so clearly defined right there for him - moving in and out of a feeling at completely random intervals.

This was real, and normal, and okay, and Phil was clinging so hard to this that he thought he was going to explode.

“Terms too? Like… write down the terms you like or feel the most akin to?” he asked, biting his lip as the excitement exploded through him.

Dan stamped down on his magic before it could cause any actual damage.

Dan bit back a small smile as he felt Phil’s magic flaring, because that right there meant that Phil was beginning to get excited. Dan almost liked the way Phil’s magic would flare like that; it was such a visceral reaction and it showed him an inner part of Phil that he knew no one else got to see. It was special. Dan clamped down on the reaction, setting a cool lid over the fiery spell to keep it under control. He liked how that felt, too - how it had just become instinct to keep Phil protected and safe.

Dan took the pen and paper Phil had conjured up, drawing himself up a chart with three columns, for things he always liked, sometimes liked, and never liked. He nodded at Phil’s suggestion, adding a section at the bottom for a list of terms he identified with, or felt like described him in some way. “Good idea. We can do this.”

Things were silent for a few minutes then, as they both scribbled and read the screen, moving it up and down at intervals. Surprisingly, Dan was actually quite enjoying himself. He liked finding new ways to describe himself, to figure out the mess that was going on inside his head. This was like another step up from that, and he was finally growing to realise that there was an explanation for why he was the way he was, that there was a whole community of other people out there exactly like him and Phil.

Most importantly, this exercise should show Phil once and for all that he was always going to be exactly what Dan needed.

When Dan finally got to the end of the list, he had a sheet of paper filled with words. For the chart, he had cuddles (human and cat), ear-scratches, sharing a bed, and making Phil purr under the list of things that he always enjoyed, hugging and kissing and hand-holding under things he sometimes enjoyed, and having sex (he actually shuddered, but forced himself to write the word down anyway, because it was important) listed as the only thing that was never okay. After a moment’s thought, he added kissing with mouths open to the never list, knowing he probably wouldn’t really enjoy that, either.

As for terms he identified with, Dan had written down asexual (never feeling sexual attraction), aroflux (fluctuating between feeling romantic attraction and other types of attraction) underlined, and sex repulsion. Those were the only terms that had really grabbed him - he’d never really been a big fan of labelling himself.

He turned to Phil, holding his sheet of paper up against his chest and taking in a deep breath. “Are you ready to compare?”

So Phil was a bit of a cheater. The second that Dan gave him the go ahead that they could mark down words they liked for themselves, he glanced over at his witch’s paper to get a sense of how he was setting up, and then promptly turned back to his own to mimic him: three columns, and a block at the bottom labeled “terms.” Then he got to writing, ears tingling a slightly terrified pink now that he and Dan were no longer touching and they were about to be forced to face whether or not they were similar people. His fingers itched as he considered each of his columns, and avoided glancing at Dan’s entirely to instead focus on his own wants and needs without the pressure of wanting to copy Dan whether he felt that way or not.

In the end, his paper ended up looking like a bit of a mess.

Under “always enjoy,” Phil had written cuddles and hand-holding, both as a cat and a human, as well as bed-sharing for both human and cat (despite worrying that Dan only liked that sometimes). He’d also scribbled down ear scratches and sitting in Dan’s lap, though only in cat form as sometimes it was too intimate for him when he was human. His last note was regarding enjoying casual touches at all times, needing as he did the reassurance that Dan was there and his. Under “sometimes” Phil had hugging and kissing, sitting in Dan’s lap as a human, and food sharing, which he scribbled out and corrected as feeding each other food. He considered the column for one more second before moving on, but the last column was easy, and though he couldn’t write the word, he did put “pheromones” knowing that Dan would understand.

The terms were a bit harder. Phil penned in asexual and sex-repulsed, though the words and definition completely made him shudder, before grasping onto aroflux and fluxy, relieved when it explained why sometimes Phil loved Dan, and other times he just… loved him. The website explained it better, and Phil moved on quickly when his eyes landed on another term: queerplatonic relationship.

He didn’t have a chance to jot down the definition before Dan was turning to him, holding his sheet of paper against his chest and staring at Phil with hopeful eyes.

Slowly, Phil nodded, and he picked up his own sheet of paper and turned it to Dan.

Dan was a bit sneaky, and he cast a quick glance over Phil’s paper before turning his own around for Phil to see. Relief flooded through Dan’s chest, though, because even from that quick glance he’d gleaned enough to see that Phil agreed with him, at least about most things. Dan’s shoulders actually sagged, tension draining out of his body. He’d been more worried than he’d even realised that Phil might secretly want more out of this than Dan ever could.

That didn’t seem to be the case, though, and as Dan compared their lists side-by-side so that Phil could read them too, he actually let out a little laugh.

He and Phil agreed on almost everything. The only thing that was in a different category was hand-holding, which Phil had down as always and Dan had down as sometimes, but he was sure they could work around that. Phil had also gone into a bit more detail about sitting in Dan’s lap as a cat and a human, but Dan fully agreed with him.

The most heartbreaking thing was seeing that Phil had only written 'pheromones’ in the never column, clearly unable to even write the word sex.

Dan instantly grabbed for Phil’s hand, his greyness apparently having faded sometime during this conversation. He held Phil’s hand tight and leaned into his side, letting out another little laugh. “See? Look at that. A near-perfect match.” He turned to Phil with glimmering eyes, relief and happiness bubbling through him. Here was clear, objective proof that they were more similar than Dan had ever dared to imagine.

“I agree with you about the food, too,” Dan clarified, “Sometimes I like feeding you. But sometimes it’s a bit… much?” He grinned. “And I can deal with hand-holding, I like it usually, just if I’m very grey I might not. And we never ever have to do that… thing.” He shuddered, pointing to both their never columns. He hadn’t glanced down to the labels they’d chosen yet, too keen to analyse their opinions on actions.

Phil’s heart was fluttering along anxiously as his eyes scanned between the two sheets of paper pressed side by side only to find that most everything was the same, and a slow smile spread across his lips as he realised that yes, okay, that’s fine, everything was okay. Dan didn’t like hand-holding as much as Phil did, it seemed, but he agreed about literally everything else, other than the few things Phil had written that Dan had not. He was surprised that Dan had said sharing a bed was always okay now, though, and turned to Dan as the other male reached out to lace their fingers together, staring at Phil as he spoke.

“We don’t always have to hold hands,” Phil agreed easily, a little breathless with a new, relaxed happiness. “But - but is casual touching okay? Sometimes… sometimes I need to be human around you, even when you’re grey, and I like it when we bump shoulders, or hips, or our hands touch because it reminds me that I’m yours,” he murmured, turning his head away in embarrassment and fear that Dan would not be okay with that. It had been about three days now of Dan being grey and Phil staying in his human form, and so far it had been fine, but Phil was afraid that Dan had just never considered it before.

“Also,” he added, clearing his throat. “Bed sharing. I’m - I’m happy to do it in either form, but… there’s a difference. I know there’s a difference in how it feels when I’m a cat, and when I’m a human, so… so are you sure bed sharing is always okay with you? Because it’s okay if it’s not, it really is. I can sleep in your bed as a cat all the time and I’d be happy, or I could take the sofa on bad nights. I don’t mind,” he hastened to say, just so relieved that he was a close to perfect match for Dan in the first place.

“Casual touching is okay,” Dan agreed readily after giving it a moment’s thought. He’d be okay with that, he thought, even on grey days - he hadn’t been too freaked out with Phil being human these past few days, and on the rare occasion that he did freak out, it was because he was afraid that Phil was going to suddenly do something he didn’t want. He knew that wasn’t going to happen now, though - that Phil had no desire to do those things, either.

This exercise had been a good idea.

“I like when we bump hips or tease each other, too,” Dan confirmed, turning to Phil with a smile and lifting a hand to run his fingers gently through Phil’s hair. “And hair touching. I kind of - love touching your hair? Or your fur, when you’re a cat. It doesn’t matter how grey I am, I always love doing that. Is that kind of casual touching what you mean?”

He considered carefully what Phil had said about sharing a bed. He was right - there was a difference when he was human, and it was about time that Dan actually addressed that, and gave some thought to why he would freak out occasionally about waking up in the same bed with Phil. “I’m always happy sharing a bed with you when you’re a cat,” he said quietly after a few minutes of thinking. “I never have to worry, then. Sometimes, when you’re human…sometimes, I feel like I’m trapped?” He tried to explain it, biting his inner cheek. “It’s like - if you have arms and you’re lying on top of me, then sometimes I get scared because I can’t move? But I love holding you. And sometimes I really want to go to sleep in your arms, I just…can’t guarantee I’ll wake up like that.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I know that’s hard to deal with. I don’t want you on the sofa ever, though. I want you with me, at my side.”

Phil grinned as Dan reassured him that bumping hips was most definitely okay, that Phil could tease and annoy Dan as much as he needed when he was in human form and craving the attention and adoration of Dan in whatever form he could get it in. At the mention of hair petting, he practically mewled, humming and nearly curling into Dan, only catching himself at the last second because he knew that Dan was grey today, and Phil was not. “Yes. Yes, hair touching, and hands brushing, and shoulders pressed to shoulders. I just… I just crave some kind of reminder that you don’t hate me?” he asked, feeling dumb for having to say something like that to Dan of all people. Dan didn’t seem to mind though, actually reaching over and pressing a hand against Phil’s scalp and drawing it down his hair in one slow sweep before pulling away again with a small smile. Phil practically melted, having to shake himself to focus on what else Dan was saying.

It made sense to Phil that Dan would sometimes feel trapped if he woke up in a position they’d agreed on the night before but had fluxed from wanting it to hating it upon waking up, and couldn’t blame him at all. The few times it had happened in the last month or so since they’d started sharing a bed hadn’t even upset Phil as much as the first time, because he did understand, on some level, that Dan wasn’t rejecting him, so he squeezed Dan’s fingers in his and smiled slowly at him, nodding his head. “I can deal with that. It’s not hard at all. I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by invading your space. I want to do as much as we can to avoid making you uncomfortable. If you wake up feeling different then when you went to sleep, that’s okay. I can handle that,” Phil agreed easily, because he’d never be able to say no if Dan wanted Phil to hold him before bed, regardless of whether or not he didn’t want it anymore come morning.

Besides, Dan was always understanding of Phil when Phil disagreed, despite the two of them not always feeling the same thing at the same time.

It also made him happy to hear that Dan was never going to ban him back to the sofa again, and he chuckled a little, ducking his gaze away from Dan’s.

“Besides. Since we both seem to… to not always want certain things at certain times, and we’re not always on the same page at the same time… concessions are going to be necessary anyway. I don’t want you to ever think you’re a burden to me. I just want you to always be happy.”

Dan’s grin was wide when Phil all but melted under the touch to his hair. That right there - that was what Dan loved, and it had him fluxing back to full romo mood before he even realised it. When Phil was reluctant to lean into him, Dan made the decision for him by simply curling up small and determinedly pressing himself into Phil’s chest, nudging his head against Phil’s neck.

After all, Phil wasn’t grey today, and now Dan really wanted a cuddle.

“I don’t want you to think you’re a burden to me, either,” Dan agreed with a happy little sound, feeling much more content now he was curled up against Phil. “I promise I’ll never be angry or hurt if you go grey and want to stop something suddenly. The most important thing is we’re always honest with each other, I think.” He yawned a little. “I don’t want misunderstandings to happen again, and I never want to end up like PJ and the raven.” Dan’s lips twitched down a little, and he resolved to speak to PJ about that as soon as he could get them alone.

For now, though, Phil was his main concern. Dan tilted his head up from where he was leaning into Phil’s neck, meeting his eyes with a pleading gaze. “Promise to always tell me when you go grey? And I’ll tell you too. And if I’m grey but you want to stay human, I think we could still share a bed, if we, sort of, kept our distance a bit? Like, held hands, but didn’t cuddle. Then I wouldn’t feel trapped. Would that be okay?”

Phil looked down in surprise when Dan quite suddenly curled into his body, tucking his head just under Phil’s chin, side of his head resting against Phil’s chest. The way Dan had done it had made him so much smaller looking as well, and it was cute, so cute that Phil found himself reaching around Dan to wrap his arm around his waist, just wanting to hold him, and glad that Dan seemed okay with it, had initiated it even. The warmth of him always made Phil’s heart ache when he was feeling like this - what he was coming to understand was romantic feelings that weren’t ever going to be quite as strong as the ones in romance movies and novels, but which were definitely just as real and valid. He wasn’t always going to feel like this either, but he was far from grey right now as he stared down at Dan, soft smile curling the edges of his lips.

Phil relaxed as Dan promised that he didn’t want either of them to ever feel uncomfortable, resolving that both men should tell the other when they were suddenly fluxing from one feeling to another, no matter what they were in the middle of. The second they felt uncomfortable, both Dan and Phil could tell each other and they would stop whatever they were doing in an instant. The thought of that alone was so relaxing, that Phil practically turning into mush against Dan.

He was disrupted from his position by Dan suddenly looking up at him, soft brown eyes so worried that for a second, Phil was terrified that something was wrong.

So when Dan said what he wanted to say, it made Phil chuckle and relax again. “Promise. But we don’t have to touch at all. Just because I’m human doesn’t mean that I need to be touching you at all times. I’d like to, when I’m in this form, whether I’m grey or not, just for reassurance, but I don’t need it… especially if you’re not feeling up to it. Some nights, hand holding or cuddling, they’re all fine. But it doesn’t always have to be that way. No pressure. I don’t want any pressure at all,” he murmured, smiling at Dan and hoping that he’d take Phil as seriously as Phil was taking him.

They could discuss the way they felt every night, and Phil wouldn’t even care. It would never be a burden to him.

His mind flicked back to Mara and PJ then, and something important started to settle in his belly. The way that Mara had described her feelings about PJ… well, in all honestly, they resonated deep within him, but never so much as they did when he was left staring at these terms on a laptop screen, on pieces of paper in front of him and Dan. Having these words, these labels to back him, they made Phil feel secure enough to look at Mara and realize… that maybe she was acting out because she didn’t have this security either.

Phil knew what it was like to be a familiar, knew what it was like to have someone telling you your whole life how things were meant to be, knew what it was like to find your witch and realize that things weren’t exactly that. He knew how hard it was to navigate a world a million times different than you were ever expecting it to be, and some of his anger at Mara suddenly disappeared, because he thought he understood.

Now that he understood himself, he thought he understood her, and he decided right then and there that sometime soon, he was going to help her. He was going to help her fix whatever was wrong in her relationship with PJ, and he was going to show her that the world was not black and white. Things were never going to be simple, but especially not if she and PJ kept letting the world decide for her how things were going meant to be.

Pushing those thoughts aside, and feeling better already about his friend, Phil allowed himself to move on. They could solve that later, if Mara still wanted his help.

Phil’s eyes flicked over to the “never” column then as Dan thought beside him, and he reached out to cover that word he didn’t like with his finger before focusing on the other thing Dan had said. “What’s… kissing with mouths open?” he asked.

Dan’s cheeks grew hot, and he could feel that stupid patch on his lower right cheek turning red. “Um. Kissing with mouths open, it's… it’s a thing that some couples do. Apparently it feels good? But I just - I just find it kind of gross.” He swallowed. “It’s like - like, when we kiss on the mouth, but… tongues get involved.” He held back a shudder. “I mean… if you ever wanted to try it, I guess… I guess we could always try.”

When Dan started blushing, Phil suddenly wondered if he wanted to know what tongue kissing was at all. He stared at Dan, mortified, as he started to explain how people used their tongues when they kissed each other. The very thought of it made Phil’s face crinkle in disgust, and he scrunched his nose up, shaking his head right away. “No!” he said, “I don’t need to try it. I don’t - no, that’s. That’s gross,” he complained, pulling his hand away from Dan’s paper and shoving it towards him. “No. I just like - like what we’ve done before. And sometimes, like the first time when you let me like, suck on your lip a little, but no tongue!” he complained immediately.

Dan snickered at Phil’s little disgusted noise, the laugh once again mostly from relief. He magicked the paper back onto the desk, not wanting to move from his comfortable resting place to put them down properly. While he was at it, he removed the word sex with a little flick of his fingers, burning a hole in the paper so it was completely obliterated. He kept the rest of the charts, though - a reminder that they really were perfect for each other.

“No tongue,” Dan promised, and he leaned up to Phil again with a small smile. “I can deal with the sucking thing, though. I’m really not grey anymore, in fact, so…” he leaned in close, one hand lifting up to cup Phil’s cheek, and just hovered there with his eyes meeting Phil’s. “We could practise some, if you aren’t grey too?”

That’s when Dan leaned in closer to him and cupped his cheek, promising Phil that they never had to involve tongue in their kissing at all. It was the following comment Dan made that caused Phil’s heart to stutter in his chest, though, and his breathing to hitch as he stared at Dan. He licked his lips subconsciously, surprised by the sudden movement, and glanced into very keen, very willing eyes.

“Okay,” he ended up whispering, because he most definitely wasn’t grey - far from it, in fact - and he most definitely wanted to kiss Dan right then. After all this talk, he was definitely feeling full romo. “Yeah,” he said again, the word breathy off his lips. Dan chuckled at him, and Phil could feel it against his skin. He shivered. Dan’s thumb stroked gently across his cheek.

“We don’t have to,” he reassured Phil.

“I want to,” Phil reassured him.

So they did. Slowly, both men leaned in until their lips were brushing softly, chastely, the way they’d most often kissed, though they’d done that so little that Phil was surprised by Dan’s sudden desire to try. He liked it, though, and his eyes fluttered closed automatically as he reached up to bunch his fingers lightly in Dan’s shirt. Their lips parted, and then moved back together, fluttering over each other’s gently and carefully. The feeling sent sparks of happiness through Phil’s heart, and he grinned as he tilted his head and slipped his bottom lip between both of Dan’s. Immediately, Dan was tentatively sucking at the bit of skin, causing Phil to sigh and mimic the movement, though they both got startled rather quickly and pulled apart.

“Try that again?” Dan suggested softly. Phil’s cheeks were burning when he nodded his head.

And so, they tried again, with Phil tentatively leaning back in and Dan meeting him for every movement, both of them trying and learning and exploring each other to figure out the sweet spots. Dan learned that if he took Phil’s bottom lip carefully between his own, it got Phil to melt against him, and if he ran a gentle hand through Phil’s hair as they kissed then Phil made this delightful little breathy noise.

They kissed for a long time, movements slow and careful and never hurried, never desperate. They weren’t desperate for this - instead, the actions took on a new meaning for them both. Dan allowed the love for Phil to blossom in his chest, pressing outward until he was glowing with it, glowing with the knowledge that he made Phil happy.

When eventually they drew back, it was with little looks and shy smiles and gentle giggles on both their parts. Phil immediately took Dan’s hand in his own, and Dan gave his fingers a squeeze before curling back up in his new favourite position, small against Phil’s chest with his head over Phil’s heart.

Dan’s lips were still tingling. That was definitely new. He could also feel his heart thudding away in his chest, and his palms may have been sweating a little, and this was about the most physically romantic Dan had ever felt in his entire life. He stayed still for a minute, adjusting, and waited to see if that sickening, trapped feeling would return.

It didn’t - at least, not yet. Dan would be prepared for when it did, so for now, he leaned against Phil with a low, happy sigh. “Good?” he mumbled, because apparently lots of good kissing just made him sleepy and overly affectionate, “'Cause it was good for me.”

Their lips pulled apart for the final time, and Phil’s eyes fluttered open slowly, just trying to process the moment they’d just had and the way it felt to kiss Dan like that - practicing movements to see what was okay for them and what was not, sharing a romantic intimacy that Phil knew he wouldn’t always want to share but that he’d enjoyed right then more than he could ever explain. He found himself smiling shyly at Dan, laughing quietly as he reached up to touch his lips at the same time as Dan pulled back to lay against his chest, because right then, he was most definitely in love with Dan. He always loved Dan, would always love Dan, but today, it was so much… different. His heart was fluttering away like a hummingbird in his chest, and he was warm all over in a pleasant way, little tingles running up and down his spine.

He dropped his fingers to wrap his arm around Dan, and laughed as he tucked his face into his hair.

“Definitely good,” he agreed, the sound a muffled sound of contentment. “So good. I - thank you, Dan. I think I really needed all of this, and - and you always give me exactly what I need,” he explained quietly, humming into Dan’s hair and kissing right there. He sighed, closing his eyes, and giggled again as his stomach filled with keen excitement.

“There is nothing I could ever want to change about you,” he added, and closed his eyes. “I love you.”

Dan squirmed happily in Phil’s grip, a bright smile stretching his lips wide before he even realised it was happening. Had Phil honestly said that? That he wouldn’t change Dan? Because that, that was exactly what Dan had been fearing this whole time. That some familiar would come into his life and turn it completely upside down, point out all his bad habits and force him to change, force him into things he didn’t want.

But here was Phil, saying he accepted Dan completely as he was. Shortcomings and all, and Dan knew he had many of them.

“Phil,” he said, and his voice actually cracked. He didn’t even have words for the moment, so he just turned his face up to meet Phil’s eyes and leaned in to peck him on the cheek, his fingers tightening in their hold around Phil’s. As Dan looked up at him, Dan’s eyes were filled with the most emotion he’d ever shown - he could feel himself practically wearing his love on his face.

“Phil,” he sighed again, happily, and leaned in as close as he could, just burrowing into Phil’s side to carve himself out a permanent place there. “I love you,” he mumbled against Phil’s side, and then laughed. “I love you. I never knew what those words meant, but - but I love you.”

Phil had never truly known what those words meant either. For all the familiars in his world talked about it, acted as if they knew the exact formula of how to be in love, Phil had never truly understood until he’d been with Dan. In fact, he’d never truly understood until just that moment.

“Me too,” Phil replied softly, and turned to stare up at Dan with the softest look he could manage. There were tears in his eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to love Dan forever. “Me too,” he repeated softly, and closed his eyes as he leaned in for another kiss.

Fin

#a familiar kind of love #ace phan #aro phan #iwritephanthings #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #snowbunnylester

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