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greyias · 11 months

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On @thievinghippo's recommendation for a Stardew Valley-like game with more plot, I picked up "My Time at Portia" like... months ago. Put off playing it for a while, launched it once and enjoyed it... then I made the mistake of deciding to launch it this weekend because "the ruin diving is fun and relaxing"

Several lost nights of sleep later, and a long weekend/vaction days I had planned on using to write... I'm in deep. I've been regaling @grumpyhedgehog with the tales of how between awkward timing on my part, randomized in-game events how one NPC who is probably supposed to be dashing and competent is coming off as the biggest damn dork and it's incredibly hilarious and endearing.

Poor Arlo here keeps trying to be this suave and competent savior, promising to save my builder from conmen trying to shake her down, and track down thieves, to arrive to every situation fifteen minutes late with Starbucks as my character is dusting her hands off, having already handled everything. And then he gets frustrated and starts telling me how he's supposed to be the one beating people up and saving the town. Which of course means he brings her along on a stakeout, I guess so he can keep an eye on her since she's getting into trouble anyway?

A Running List of Possibly Accidental In-Game Arlo Shenanigans:

He was the only person to remember my character's birthday -- including ME. I was so intent on fixing the town's water supply I forgot until he comes sneaking by at 7am to drop a gift off without even waving hello

The gift has battle stats -- so I put it on, and ironically get stuck in the hardest little dungeon crawl of the game with no healing items brought along (because I had no clue), and only his gift (and another NPC) to keep me alive

I finally get through the plot and stagger out to him and he's like "Oh hey thanks for fixing the water problem" and proceeded to pretend like he hadn't snuck a gift on my doorstep before the ass crack of dawn

He wanted me to make him a bag, with a time sensitive delivery that if I missed, I'd lose relationship points and reputation. So I rush to finish it. Then the game decides to lock him in eternal battle day and night, because of plot, and he refuses to talk to me to take his gd bag that I worked really hard on, and just shouts at me to go get supplies to fix the hole because enemies keep spawning every five seconds.

So I have to work day and night to get the items to fix the plot thing, so he doesn't hate me because he WON'T TAKE HIS BAG THAT I'M WAVING MADLY AT HIS FACE and then once the plot is advanced he's like "Oh hey thanks bag looks great, sure we can go on a platonic buddy date" and walks off

Shows up five hours early during a festival at the platonic buddy date spot to ask me to make him a training dummy, runs off

Comes back for the platonic buddy date, happily takes the spicy spaghetti I learned how to make just for him because he wouldn't stop talking about how much he wanted spicy spaghetti. Then he's like "I have stuff to do" five minutes into our buddy date and just leaves

I get fed up and challenge him to combat in the street. Despite being several levels lower than him, somehow manage to kick his ass in front of the entire town

This apparently is an extremely attractive thing to do. He shows up on my doorstep at 7am the next morning to ask ME on a platonic buddy date. I guess we'll see if this lasts a whole ten minutes this time.

Anyway, this game is now sucking up every last braincell, in the exact same way Stardew Valley did until I got my fill. So I guess this is just what I'm doing until something distracts me (probably the swtor 7.3 update, whenever that happens, because that usually derails my brain for a solid week)

#in my infinite wisdom #i have decided to woo this dork #who is the only npc known to glitch and sometimes simultaneously date a different npc #if you don't do things in the proper order according to the wiki #so after all of this #knowing my luck with bugs #this is going to be a doomed romance #like i THINK he's supposed to be this confident sheriff archetype #but from me maybe choosing the wrong dialogue options and randomized events etc #he's coming across as a little bumbling and its incredibly endearing #mtap #long post #because i don't feel like putting anything under a cut #sorry #grey's my time tag

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crankynewt · 2 years

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Shot of Espresso (Steven Grant)

Masterlist

Summary: Steven Grant, avatar to the Egyptian god of the moon, believes that his struggles are an enigma of suffering he must go through alone. But just down the hall from him each day at work is another avatar, for the Greek god of sun and light, who may be able to show Steven that he's not as alone as he thinks.

Prompts: "I can see them too. You're just as sane as I am."

Pairing: Steven Grant x Avatar!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning: Reader being severely injured and bloody (flashback only), use of Greek and Egyptian mythological figures (Khonshu and Apollo), Steven and reader owing a debt/serving these figures, Steven rambles A LOT, series level references to mental health, hallucinations, and sleeping disorders (I think that's it??).

A/N: Apparently I only get inspiration to write during exams season haha, so enjoy this manifestation of my procrastination! Definitely divergence from mythological canon, but the only reason I used Apollo is to have that sun and moon, light and dark parallel, but please take this as completely divergent from any true mythological interpretations of the figure as we are definitely in OOC territory.

One would think that working in a coffee shop was as mundane a job as you could find yourself in, and that was exactly the appeal it had for you. However, after an excruciating two years, forty-seven days, three hours, and twenty-two minutes of being employed at the cafe nestled in the corner of the National Gallery, you were well aware of how wrong you were.

Life was already too chaotic, be it utterly unpredictable and dangerous as it is and how the universe loves throwing you into dangerous situations that raised your heart rate to an all-time high. No, not the universe, but a certain sunny god with a bow always slung over his shoulder and a lyre within reach who you had the misfortune of being the avatar of.

Still, working in a coffee shop was nothing if not interesting, mostly due to the variety of customers who wandered their way in. From regulars to tourists, employees to visitors, all sorts of interesting characters found their way into the store, none more so perhaps than ‘Steven with a V’.

Constant bags gracing the skin under his eyes, Steven would come in stumbling and bumbling, mumbling under his breath about spilling his cuppa on the bus. You couldn’t help but find him intriguing, his awkward antics endearing as you filled up his travel mug with fresh earl grey, puzzled that the tired man never gave in to the temptation of the much more caffeinated coffee.

Steven would be a liar if he said he didn’t find you endearing too. He almost longed to spill his drink over himself and some unfortunate stranger just so he could justify the four-dollar, mediocre tea you would pour into his cup. To him, you were the sun. A shot of espresso, adrenaline rushing through his veins, granting him such energy that even his most sleepless nights seemed incredibly restful. In the comfort of that warm cafe, or the gift shop on the odd occasion you passed through on your way to the Greek exhibit (your favourite, he had noticed), he could forget the waking nightmare of his life.

Wiping down the counter, you were lost in the music blaring in your headphones as you hummed the familiar melody under your breath. The cafe was warmly lit, both by the fixtures overhead and the London streetlights filtering through the window like stars in the night. The museum had closed its doors half an hour ago and you were left to pack up shop alone. Well, almost alone. In the reflection of the window, you could see that golden-haired deity, leaning against the wall as they absentmindedly picked at a laurel leaf, glaring at you from across the room.

“You’re going to wear a hole into the table if you keep scrubbing much longer,” he judged as you looked up, ripping out your earbud that did little to tune out the voice that, technically, was only in your head. “How much longer till we can leave? Your life may be boring but I have plans for us.”

“What plans could you possibly have, Apollo? I’m the only one who can see you.”

If you’d known greek gods were so whiney then perhaps you would’ve thought twice before guaranteeing your servitude to one. Who knows, maybe it’s just yours, but you would wager your money on it being a constant across the board. That Loki who tried to take over New York however many years ago seemed like quite the drama queen. But you could still almost hear the loud beeping machines of the hospital, glancing down at the blood caking your skin when Apollo appeared at your bedside, making promises to save you from the brink of death and give you a whole new life. Increased strength and a couple of powers would come along with it too - all you had to do was run some errands for them every now and again. Rationale won that day as, assuming that hallucination was anything but your brain coping with your looming demise, Apollo was the god of light and music, healing and justice. How much trouble could you possibly find yourself in?

Now, giving credit where credit is due, you hadn’t done anything that your moral compass disagreed with, something most other avatars seem to have been forced into if the legends hold any truth. That being said, Apollo’s ‘justice’ came in saving the innocent while punishing the ones who put them there, resulting in you throwing yourself into dangerous situations while your fight or flight response screamed at you to run away. No amount of shooting little bursts of light from your hands at a mugger could ever change that, but the power to save someone in the same state you had once been in made the inconvenience worth it.

“Plans that include you and I running around saving people, in case you’ve forgotten. It's what we do,” pushing himself off the wall, he slowly made his way over while adjusting the laurel branch upon his curls. “Who knows, maybe if you leave now you’ll run into that dork you keep blushing at whenever he comes in. What’s his name again? Simon?”

“You and I both know it’s Steven, you arse,” You threw the cloth in the bin, grabbing your coat and bag that you had grabbed from the back room and thrown onto a table to make a quick exit. “But, tell me again, what qualifications do you have for giving relationship advice? Because last time I checked, all your relationships have ended tragically.”

“Still, I am a romantic.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” you muttered, making your way down the long corridor as you headed towards the front entrance. Granting any unfortunate souls stuck here after hours with a quick ‘goodnight’ and tight-lipped smile, you got many grumbles in return of something between ‘goodnight’ and ‘leave me alone’.

But before you could reach the door something slammed into you at full speed, sending you and someone else flying to the ground and the contents of your bag scattered across the floor. You could feel them trembling despite the fall as they continued to hyperventilate, and one glance at the man lying on your legs had your heart twinging with concern.

“Oh my- I am so sorry. I can’t believe I just- I don’t know- no, why did- are you okay? Now I’ve done it, my-” Steven sputtered over his own words, barely able to piece together a coherent thought let alone a full sentence.

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you reached across to his shoulder as you put an end to his senseless stuttering. “Are you okay?”

His eyes told you the answer to that question is not that simple, but it was not the pain nor the tiredness that they held that gave it away. No, it was a desperation to share even a sliver of what he was going through caged behind the knowledge that he could never do so, be it to burden you or that he simply thought you wouldn’t understand.

“Yeah, yeah, I…” His voice was barely above a whisper as he trailed off, eyes darting around behind you before returning to meet your gaze once more. “I just don’t like the dark. ‘Was still in the inventory room when the lights got shut off. I just, I thought I saw something and then booked it here. You probably think I’ve lost it”

Looking up, past Steven, who sat with his legs sprawled out on the floor similarly to yours, and past the empty security desk, your eyes focused on the darkness between the encased artifacts where you could almost make out a towering figure in the dark void between them. Blinking, the figure was suddenly much closer, enough so that you could make out everything about them, from the bird-like skull to the flowing robe-like garment, not to mention the crescent staff they had in hand.

“You’re not crazy, I can see them too,” now it was your voice that could barely be heard. It all made sense now, that all too familiar look of an unshareable suffering to the loneliness that living a life you could not control - Steven was an avatar, too. “You’re just as sane as I am.”

Steven’s brow furrowed at your calmness, but he slowly found some semblance of peace in your cool head in such a terrifying situation. “Wha- what, what is it?”

“You’re an avatar, that has to be…” You trailed off as you were about to explain Steven’s own role to him. “Wait, do you truly not remember your role? Or why you’re indebted to…” You trailed off, waiting for your own overbearing god to finish your sentence.

“It’s Khonshu, the Egyptian God of the moon,” Apollo sighed somewhere behind you.

“Khonshu, thanks,” you finished, watching Steven’s gaze flick upwards to the figure lurking no more than fifteen feet behind you.

“Wha- no! I’m not- I don’t remember any of this! I have a sleeping disorder, I-I have night terrors and wake up in strange places but if you can see that-that thing then I am definitely dreaming. Somebody brought up avatars earlier and this must just be some sort of manifestation of that residual whatever in my mind. This isn’t real! You’re not real!”

As Steven rambled on you reached up to gently pinch his arm, his own hand shooting up to cover yours at the sensation. He felt as if you’d jolted him awake, although he had in fact been awake this entire time, but nevertheless a newfound sense of clarity where he could tell that this was in fact not another dream.

“I think we have a lot to talk about.”

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagine #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #moon kinght #marvel #mcu #oscar isaac

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jdfreads · 3 years

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Reading every redwall book in publication order: Redwall

I finished Redwall like two nights ago and I’m only just now writing the review of it! Okay, lets dive in. (this is not a critical review, its just a bunch of my thoughts dumped into one spot)

Blurb:

Welcome to Mossflower Wood, where the gentle mice have gathered to celebrate a year of peace and abundance. All is well... until a sinister shadow falls across the ancient stone abbey of Redwall. It is rumored that Cluny is coming–Cluny, the terrible one-eyed rat and his savage horde–Cluny, who has vowed to conquer Redwall Abbey! The only hope for the besieged mice lies in the lost sword of the legendary Martin the Warrior. And so begins the epic quest of a bumbling young apprentice–a courageous mouse who would rise up, fight back... and become a legend himself.

Death count of named characters: 21

Death count of unnamed characters: literally unknowable. But definitely over a hundred.

Rating thing: Fun romp with a lot of plot in it, lots of characters to root for, and very satisfying to read.

Some overall impressions! This was a really charming story. It was a little hard for me to really get into the groove of reading it, but honestly I think thats just because my copy of the book is Very small and hard to hold, along with my funky fresh ADHD. But I was kinda forced to get into it because my mom got a really bad migraine and I had to watch over her while being real quiet, so bam! Reading. From there I was invested and it was all easy going.

I really enjoyed the Vibes of the book. The atmosphere? Immaculate. I wanna be a mouse hanging out in the woods with all my mouse friends. Also slightly weird thing about this book, every single meal is described in great detail. We always know what these mice are eating while under siege by Cluny the Scourge. I thought it was kinda weird, but it also was a nice atmospheric detail.

Brian Jacques does not go heavy on descriptions and poetic language, which makes sense because this is a children’s book. Its all very straightforward and is written in a sort of omniscient viewpoint. We don’t dwell in characters heads all too much, and the character we follow changes very frequently. This is sometimes called “head-hopping”, which can be confusing in some books but I find that its a very common convention in middle grade novels.

Matthias! Our main mouse man! He’s endearing and fun to read about. I think he’s a bit stereotypical and I could not care less. Mousey man has sword, heheh.

I kept misreading Cluny’s name as Clowny and oh man, that just decimated him. What’re you gonna do clown man? Murder me? Probably. He was one of those pure evil villains, but I think it worked because we got to be in his head a lot and see all the behind the scenes and inner workings. He wasn’t morally complex but he was very fun to root against!

This book relies very heavily on moralized species. All the rats are evil, all the mice are good, stoats and ferrets are also evil, snakes are evil, shrews are argumentative but good, sparrows started off evil and ended kinda neutral-good. It’s a product of the conventions of the time and so I’m not going to count that against it, but I really hope this gets changed in the Netflix adaptation.

This book was. Incredibly gory. That one person didn't lie when they said it was just Game of Thrones but with mice and other woodland creatures. And that brings us to the death count! (Of named characters) So many characters die in this. Quite a few of them die while we are IN THEIR POINT OF VIEW. Which is... holy shit. The first named character death happens 15 pages in, when a rat named Skullface gets crushed to death under a wagon wheel. Let me just read you the description:

“Skullface had time for just one agonized scream before he fell. The iron-shod cartwheels rolled over him. He lay in a red mist of death, the life ebbing from his broken body. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the sneering visage of Cluny the Scourge roaring from the jolting backboard,

‘Tell the devil Cluny sent you, Skullface!’”

So. yeah. This book ain’t messing around. When Cluny decides he’s going to take Redwall and he sends his rats out to get more recruits, he literally tells them to smash the dens of the recruits so they have nothing to go back to. And that they can either join, or die. Pretty intense for a guy named Cluny. Also hearing this book describe every single rat ever as evil scum of the earth was hilarious because I couldn’t stop thinking about this:

This man is a war criminal. Those tiny pink paws bring death and destruction.

Ne ways, read Redwall. It good.

List of named character deaths (in chronological order):

*=death either from that character’s point of view or in disturbing detail (a)=either killed or eaten by Asmodeus

-Skullface* -Three-Leg -Scratch -Shadow -Ragear*(a) -Scragg* -Redtooth*(a) -Sela -Methuselah -Chickenhound*(a) -King Bull Sparra -Cheesethief* -Mingo(a) -Guosim(a) -Darkclaw* -Asmodeus -Frogblood -Killconey -Fangburn -Cluny the Scourge -Abbot Mortimer

And hundreds of unnamed side characters

Next on the list: Mossflower Mattimeo Mariel of Redwall

#redwall #brian jacques #martin the warrior #matthias #redwall show #the legend begins

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muertawrites · 4 years

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Two Halves - Chapter Seven (Zuko x Reader)

Part Six

Word Count: 3,000 (really? it seemed longer...)

Author’s Note: I decided to make this one cute because it’s been a hella weird week (year) and I needed some sweet Zuko lovin’ in my life. The only downside is that now I’m piney as fuck, but it’s fine because I’ve got spaghetti from my favorite Italian place in the fridge and comfort food fixes everything. I’d also like to use this time to admit that I’ve always thought King Kuei was cute, because clearly I have a thing for adorable dumbasses who live their lives in denial (shout out to Mark, my ex, fuck you and I hope you miss me every fucking day because we both know you loved me as much as I loved you but were too weak to just own up to your feelings because you’re a punkass little bitch boy ♥). King Kuei and reader are BFFs and that’s canon.

I hope you’re all holding out okay and staying safe - PSA to wear a mask whenever you go out, make sure it covers both your mouth and nose at all times, wash your hands after being out in public, and stay the hell away from people outside your household. Do something nice for yourself today, you deserve it. I wish you all find a love someday who makes you feel as fluttery inside as these fics make me feel, and that they love you endlessly and fearlessly. I need to stop writing now, I’ve put myself in my feels.

~ Muerta

Much to the dismay of the international affairs advisors, their opportunities for stalking you about your daily life are drastically cut short when Iroh announces he wants to return to Ba Sing Se.

“I've been away from the Jasmine Dragon for too long,” he explains, breaking the news over dinner. “I miss her dearly and would like to be with her again.”

“I should go back to the Earth Kingdom, too,” Toph speaks up. “The metal bending program will probably have to be rebuilt - the idiots I left in charge of it can barely bend rocks.”

You and Zuko exchange amused looks, though the idea of being left totally alone with him - without the comfort of your mutual friends - makes you lightheaded. Having to go toe to toe with Advisor Qiang and his sketchy, passive aggressive behavior while also navigating a potentially deadly political climate? No sweat. Having to face your husband every day without the distraction of your friends and family to break the awkward tension? Horrifying, but in an exciting, slightly panicky way.

“It would be a good idea to visit,” Zuko muses, “see how the city is rebuilding. Aang’s coming back in a week or two on his way to the Northern Air Temple, and I bet he’d give us a lift.”

“Do the international affairs advisors have to come, too?” you ask. “I'm tired of their assistants taking notes on how I prefer to pour my own tea in the morning.”

Zuko smirks, shaking his head.

“I'm sending them to the Southern Tribe,” he tells you. “Hakoda’s hosting a summit for them to celebrate our union.”

“You're finally getting your life changing field trip with Hothead!” Toph cheers, playfully jabbing her elbow into your arm. “Now we can start a club - Sokka really wants to get jackets.”

As Appa glides through the air, you lean over the edge of his saddle, gazing out at the clouds as they pass. It’s your first time flying, and everything about it amazes and terrifies you - the miniscule landscape below, the shift of Appa’s massive body under his movement and breathing, the cold breeze kissing your cheeks and running its fingers through your hair, the way the sky is so much more vast than you ever could have imagined - it’s like you’ve fallen into a different world entirely.

You reach down and stroke at Appa’s fur, earning an appreciative grunt from the bison. Aang turns back from his place at the reins to grin at you, much more excited about your first time in the air than you are.

“What do you think?” he wonders cheerfully.

“It's like sailing, but in a dream,” you reply. “The clouds remind me of glaciers back home.”

“Makes you wish you were an air bender, doesn't it?” Aang chuckles.

You laugh nervously, shaking your head.

“No! I can't stop thinking about how long the fall is from up here!”

Aang tosses his head back with laughter, the sound of his voice carried on the wind filling you with the feeling of walking through the threshold of the cottage you shared with Sokka and Katara as a child; neither of them are present, but having Aang nearby feels just as much like home.

Across the saddle, Zuko smiles at you. You’re a few feet away from him, yet you still feel the warmth from his body as his eyes meet yours; his gaze is different somehow, as if he's seeing you for the first time. You blush, bashfully returning his grin.

“Are you okay?” Toph asks beside you. She's clutching your hand, neither of you very fond of your height off the ground. “Your heart rate jumped.”

“I'm fine,” you tell her. “I just looked down.”

Ba Sing Se is larger than you ever thought a city could be. As you approach, you stare in awe at the epic sprawl of the place, each district looking like its own little country within a quilt of a continent. You've been to the North Pole before, having spent a year there after the war, but even the shock of seeing their massive skyline pales in comparison to just how huge the Earth Kingdom is. Zuko smirks at you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Wait until you see it from the ground,” he teases.

You’re even more amazed by the city as you view it from the palace. It sprawls in every direction, some of its buildings reaching as high as Appa can float; Iroh explains that it's a new concept designed by the most renowned Earth Kingdom architects, some of them planning towers that stretch one hundred stories. Everything about the place seems impossible.

Inside the palace, King Kuei meets you in the entry hall, greeting Aang with a warm hug and Zuko with a firm handshake.

“It's so good to see you all!” he exclaims. “It's been far too long. Tonight we’re having a party to celebrate your arrival, and to congratulate the newlyweds!”

You smile, bowing low at the waist as you thank him.

“My husband has told me of your hospitality,” you say. “It’s an honor to be celebrated by you.”

When you straighten up, Kuei takes your hand and politely places his lips to the back of your palm, closing his other hand atop it.

“And I've been told about your exquisite nerve,” he replies, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Your bravery deserves to be celebrated.”

After a tour of the palace, you and Zuko are led to your suite. The windows in both the sitting room and bedroom look out over an incredible view of the city, in which you can almost see as far as the eastern wall; you can hardly pull yourself away, leaving Zuko the task of inspecting the rooms to ensure everything is in order.

“We have a problem,” he says, stepping out to where you perch by the sitting room window. “There's only one bed.”

You snap your head to attention, fixing him with a quizzical expression.

“... I mean, I guess that's normal,” you reply, piecing the situation together in your head. “We are married.”

“Do you want me to request another room for myself?” Zuko asks. “I could get one of the bedrolls from Appa’s pack and sleep on the floor.”

You shake your head, pacing over to where he stands.

“I trust you,” you tell him. “We have to get comfortable with each other at some point.”

Zuko nods, blushing and unable to hold your gaze.

“You're right,” he agrees. “I trust you, too.”

You gently take his hand, causing him to shift his eyes back to yours; you smile, giving his palm a light squeeze.

“Zuko, it’s okay,” you assure him. “Really. I’m okay with it.”

Zuko nods again, reaching absently to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“I just want you to feel safe,” he admits. “You’ve already got enough to worry about without… all of this.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you smile at him.

“All you’ve done since the day we met is protect me,” you remind him. “Sleeping with you is the last thing that could possibly worry me.”

Zuko chuckles, leaning to press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he playfully scolds. “Or I’ll make you sleep on the bed roll.”

You gasp, giggling as you push his shoulder.

“I can’t believe my own husband would make me sleep on the floor,” you tease. “And in a strange city, no less! You’re so awful to me.”

Zuko rolls his eyes, smirking as he bends and hooks his arms under your bum, lifting you up over his shoulder. You squeal, laughing as he carries you into the bedroom and flops you down on the mattress, jestfully smacking a pillow into your face.

“Get changed, Queenie” he tells you, retreating into the sitting room before you can launch a counterattack. “The party’s in an hour.”

In the ballroom of the Earth King’s palace, it seems everyone in the city has turned out to celebrate your arrival.

You sit in a throne beside Kuei’s, Zuko to your left and Aang to the Earth King’s right. Dignitaries from Kuei’s cabinet as well as various parts of the kingdom come to give their regards, all greeting you much more fondly than many of the guests at your wedding; Kuei is excited to introduce you to everyone, giving fervent, detailed descriptions of what each person does and launching you into long conversations with them. You don’t mind his enthusiasm, finding it endearing that he cares so much and so openly about the people who serve him.

“Ah, here’s a very special guest!” Kuei announces, cheerfully clapping his hands.

A woman approaches the throne, leading a large, furry animal up the steps towards you; its long claws and massive stature send a chill through you, but once you look into its beady little eyes and notice its round ears and bumbling demeanor, you’re enamored.

“Is that a bear?” you ask, excitedly gripping Kuei’s sleeve.

“Yes!” he cheers. “His name is Bosco; he’s a close friend of mine.”

Bosco lets out a soft growl as Kuei scratches him under the chin, pulling the fuzzy giant into a tight hug.

“He loves cuddles and blackberries,” Kuei tells you. “Don’t let his claws scare you - he’s a big softy.”

One of the servers appears with a bowl of fresh fruit, setting it into your lap for you to share with your newest party guest. You carefully take a blackberry into your palm, holding it out for Bosco to sniff; his nose hovers above your fingers, letting out a few warm huffs of breath onto your skin before licking the berry up into his mouth. You turn to Kuei and give him a wide smile, gathering more berries into your hand for Bosco to eat.

“I love him,” you tell your host. “He might be coming back to the Fire Nation with me.”

Kuei laughs, giving Bosco a loving pat on the head as you continue to fatten him up, switching between feeding him and running your fingers through his thick coat, giggling when his tongue flops out to lick your cheek; you never expected an animal fabled to be so fearsome to turn out so sweet.

Once the bowl of fruit is empty, Bosco settles onto the floor at the foot of Kuei’s throne, letting out a heavy yawn. Kuei reaches to scratch behind his ears, then stands, offering you his hand.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks. “I heard you and the Avatar made quite the display at your wedding.”

“We did!” Aang chimes in, also getting to his feet and sweeping Toph (who stands just to the side of the thrones, having declined the royal treatment for the evening) into his arms. “We were taught a few Earth Kingdom dances by your advisors, too!”

Toph laughs as you’re both led onto the dancefloor, taking her position beside Aang.

“And that’s why I call him Twinkle Toes,” she jokes.

Kuei chuckles, taking you by the waist and starting the dance, twirling with you in an interlaced circle between Toph and Aang. You each pass from partner to partner, raising your hands to meet them together and spinning gracefully around each other before returning to the escort you started with. Kuei’s arm skillfully finds your waist when he takes you back in, each of you facing the opposite direction with your sides pressed together, turning in a clockwise motion. He grins at you, and you can’t help but smile back.

“You’re a natural!” he praises you. “I’m sorry I have two left feet.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“Back home, they consider me clumsy,” you confess. “I used to step on my brother and sister’s toes when they tried to teach me to dance - I still do sometimes!”

Kuei chortles, taking your hand in his and repeating the sequence of steps you just completed. You recite the ritual five times before the dance is over, ending with each of you bowing to each other with cheerful, elated smiles. Someone behind Kuei clears his throat, and he turns to find Zuko, his hand outstretched toward you.

“You promised to teach me to dance,” he reminds you.

You nod, a burning heat pinkening your cheeks as you take his hand.

“I did,” you echo. “Thank you for the wonderful dance, your majesty.”

Kuei smirks knowingly between the two of you, bowing before taking his leave.

“The pleasure was all mine, my lady,” he says in parting. “It’s rare that I have such an excellent partner.”

Zuko’s arm locks around your waist, skirting you to the edge of the dance floor where he stands stiffly, holding you in place in front of him. You let out a soft giggle, resting your hands on his chest.

“I thought you didn’t want to learn how to dance with an audience?” you prod, starting to sway in time with the music. Zuko does the same, his body drifting along in sync with yours.

“I wouldn’t enjoy the party if I sat through it,” he explains, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. You quirk a brow, grinning teasingly at him.

“Sure,” you say. “It definitely didn’t have anything to do with me dancing so close with another man.”

“Not at all,” Zuko replies. His hand at the small of your back clutches you a little tighter, giving himself away. “It looked like fun and I wanted to join in.”

You roll your eyes, smirking as you take a step back from him, lacing your fingers with his.

“Let’s find Aang,” you suggest. “He can help me teach you the dance we did at our wedding.”

For the rest of the evening, you, Aang, Toph, and Zuko occupy a small corner of the dance floor, guiding the Firelord with the steps of your favorite traditional Water Tribe dance. He’s nervous, moving with rigid gestures and clearly unsure of what his body is supposed to do when set to music, but he tries, watching every move you make with rapt attention. By the end of the night he has the dance memorized, and you twirl in time with him as Aang cheers him on, Toph laughing beside him at the ridiculousness of the scene; Kuei even joins in, rousing Bosco from his nap and dancing with the bear on his two hind legs, sending the entire ballroom into gleeful fits.

“You’re better at this than you think, you know,” you tell Zuko when you’re left alone, dancing with him much the same way you danced with the king earlier in the night. “I noticed at our wedding that you have great rhythm.”

Zuko blushes, his lips curling into a timid smile.

“I’m a fighter, not a dancer,” he says.

“They’re not that different,” you shrug. “From what I’ve seen of fire bending, it’s a lot like dancing.”

Zuko hums, gently turning you so that your chest is pressed against his, his hand resting firmly at your waist.

“Maybe it’s the music lessons my mother forced me to take when I was a kid,” he muses. “Uncle still keeps asking me to play the tsungi horn for him when we’re together.”

“You play the tsungi horn?” you exclaim, eyebrows raising in excitement. “You should play for both of us sometime!”

Zuko groans, immediately switching the dance so he can pass you off to Aang.

You lean against the sitting room in your guest suite, watching the lights of Ba Sing Se as they flicker with the movement of its people. The world looks dreamlike from where you sit, as if it's been turned upside down; a black expanse of sky hangs above a sea of stars, and you float between the two, dizzy with the surrealism.

Zuko emerges from the bedroom, having changed into his pajamas after giving you the chance to do the same. He crosses the room to where you sit, resting a hand on your shoulder.

“You coming to bed?” he asks. You nod, standing and following him back into the bedroom.

Zuko allows you to slip between she sheets before him, giving you a few moments to get comfortable before crawling in beside you, keeping to his side of the bed. Even though the mattress is large enough to fit another couple between you, you can still feel the warmth of his skin spreading across the fabric below, feel the weight of his body sharing the same space as yours. Your heart flutters against your ribs, making your breathing shallow.

“I had fun tonight,” Zuko whispers into the darkness around you. “Thank you for teaching me how to dance.”

“I had fun, too,” you reply. “I can teach you the dance people do for Water Tribe weddings; I wish we could’ve done it at ours.”

“I’d like that. I’m sorry we didn’t have much Water Tribe tradition when we got married… We should go back and have a ceremony there. I’d like to see you in a Water Tribe wedding gown.”

A shiver runs through your veins, heating your skin as if a fire has been lit beneath it. You roll over to face him, making out his silhouette against the rest of the shadows in the room.

“I’m glad you asked me to marry you,” you admit to him, the manic jitters in your chest rising to your throat. “I don’t think anyone else could treat me better.”

Zuko reaches his hand towards you, finding yours beneath the blankets and curling his fingers with yours. For a moment you forget that your relationship was arranged, feeling as if you’re lovers instead of leaders, tasked with repairing a world that’s been shattered since long before you were born.

“I’m glad you agreed,” Zuko answers. “I was afraid you’d hate my guts because I stalked your brother and sister for six months when we were teenagers.”

You release a breath of laughter, the pressure in your body unraveling with it. Zuko’s thumb runs tenderly across your knuckles, and you forget that anyone else in the world exists except for the two of you.

“Goodnight, Zuko,” you murmur.

“Goodnight,” he hums back to you. “Sleep well.”

You wake early in the morning with his arm draped over your waist, your head tucked under his chin with your cheek pressed to his chest. You drift back to sleep to his quiet, blissful snores, his heartbeat pulsing in time with your own.

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squaaash · 5 years

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something familiar

a fic inspired by this lovely drawing by @sidetrek because the idea just would not leave me alone

Read on AO3

Summary: Aziraphale is laid out on the couch, seemingly asleep. This is not shocking.

What is shocking, however, is the giant black snake coiled around him from head to toe.

Anathema and Newt drop by the bookshop and make a startling discovery. Aziraphale and Crowley are just trying to have a lazy Saturday morning.

Keep reading:

Aziraphale and Crowley had recently developed a tradition on Saturday mornings.

The past winter had been particularly cold and bitter, and Crowley often had a bit of an issue keeping warm. His cold-blooded origins weren’t helped by his lanky form and bony extremities, so he enjoyed spending his nights snuggled up against his space-heater of an angel.

Aziraphale woke one morning to very peculiar sensation. He felt almost swaddled. The gentle pressure and weight elicited a pleasant feeling in his chest that warmed him to his very core.

He opened his eyes to find a large serpentine head resting on his sternum, still dead to the world, with an incredibly peaceful expression on his face. Crowley has shifted forms (likely without waking, Aziraphale surmises) and successfully coiled himself around Aziraphale’s entire body, the end of his tail brushing against his ankles as it lazily swung back and forth. The warmth in the angel’s chest grows. He can feel the love radiating off of the sleeping serpent, and does his best ensure that he feels the same in return, extending his contented aura outward and brushing his thumb gently over the snake’s head.

But then Crowley wakes and the lazy Saturday morning spell is broken. The serpent’s eyes widen, and suddenly they’re peering out of Crowley’s human face instead. He’s lying flush on Aziraphale’s front, his arms and legs wrapped soundly around him. Aziraphale would find himself endeared by the blush rising on the demon’s cheeks if it weren’t for his absolutely shamefaced expression.

“Sssorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Aziraphale rests his hand on Crowley’s cheek, running his thumb across his cheek before carding his fingers back through his hair. Crowley closes his eyes, sighing pleasantly at the sensation.

“Don’t apologize, my love.”

Crowley rests his cheeks against Aziraphale’s chest, still looking somewhat crestfallen. He focuses on the steady thump-thump of his angel’s human heart. “But I–”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Surely you’d rather not cuddle with a reptile.”

“I think you’re underestimating what a good cuddler you are in your serpentine form.”

Crowley tilts his head to better see Aziraphale, a look of quiet awe on his face. A look that reveals all his fear. That he doesn’t deserve this, that Aziraphale is simply humoring him, is too good for him, that he’ll misstep in his usual demonic way and Aziraphale will leave him and that’s just the way the world is meant to be.

Aziraphale kisses the doubt right off of Crowley’s face.

Slowly but surely, Crowley allowed himself to become comfortable sleeping coiled around Aziraphale in his serpentine form. On Saturdays, Aziraphale would leave the shop closed until the late afternoon so that he and Crowley could bask in the sunlight that streamed in through the front window and onto his well-loved sofa. (He knew that Crowley was particularly fond of the way that the golden light warmed his scales. On the rare occasion that Aziraphale woke first, he loved watching the serpent sleep, tracing his fingers along his spine. He rarely saw him so relaxed.)

This random Saturday morning in March, while rainy and dreary, should have been like all the others. Except for the fact that it wasn’t.

---------

Anathema Device knew that Crowley and Aziraphale were not… people, per se.

Their auras were tinged with something pearlescent and odd-looking that her eyes could never manage to focus on long enough to truly see what it was. Not to mention the odd little magic tricks they would perform now and again, under the impression that Anathema wouldn’t notice that there always happened to be a tray of fresh tea and little sandwiches on the coffee table whenever she and Newt would pop in for a visit. (She did notice.)

Not long after the failed Armageddon, Anathema had come across an unfamiliar contact in her cellphone saved under the name of “A.Z. Fell and Co.” Upon calling the number, Aziraphale feigned ignorance as to how the number came to be in her possession but invited her to stop by the shop anytime if she’d like to take a peek at his extensive library.

And thus, Anathema and Newt had a very odd new friend.

Whenever they were in London they’d stop by the shop, knocking on the door if it happened to be closed. (Anathema learned very quickly that the shop wasn’t for the purpose of selling books so much as storing them, but after a few trial runs to ensure that she was trustworthy, Aziraphale was more than happy to let her borrow to her heart’s content.) While bumbling and awkward at times, the man was sweet as all get-out and knew his books well enough to debate them to the earth’s end. Eventually, Anathema was dragging Newt into the city at least once a week to accompany her and discuss Aziraphale’s vast collection of literature, so it really should have only been a matter a time until they ran into his red-headed companion.

Except Anathema was fairly certain that Crowley was avoiding the bookshop whenever she and Newt were there. In fact, she was absolutely certain. Mainly because she once spotted him out the front window of the shop over Aziraphale’s shoulder as he was ranted passionately about Oscar Wilde’s Garden of Eros. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted the young couple on Aziraphale’s couch and slumped his shoulders dramatically, making an exasperated expression before turning on his heel and briskly walking away. So, yeah. Anathema could say with confidence that Crowley was avoiding them.

It all came to a head on a rainy morning in March.

Anathema and Newt had plans to be back in Tadfield in the early afternoon for Pepper’s birthday party, but Anathema had accumulated a rather large hoard of finished books and felt too guilty to hold onto them for any longer. She figured that Aziraphale didn’t really seem the type for a lie in and that popping in and out around ten in the morning shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.

Perhaps she should’ve thought that through.

Anathema can immediately tell that something is off. She’s holding a stack of books up to her chin so Newt knocks heavily on the door, knowing that Aziraphale sometimes can’t hear from his back room, but the door swings open easily. They exchange a look. Aziraphale generally does whatever he can to keep people out of his shop At All Costs, and leaving the door unlocked is… out of character, to say the least.

Anathema worries her lip between her teeth as she nudges her way past Newt, opening the door further with her shoulder, quieting his stuttered protests with a quirked eyebrow in his direction. Surely, if something was wrong, Aziraphale wouldn’t mind them letting themselves in. She looks back towards his desk, as they often find him wrapped up in his notes and annotations, but his chair sits empty. She’s only distantly aware of Newt following her timidly into the store until she hears a strangled gasp.

She whirls around and follows Newt’s wide-eyed gaze before squeaking in shock at the sight.

Aziraphale is laid out on the couch, seemingly asleep. This is not shocking.

What is shocking, however, is the giant black snake coiled around him from head to toe.

It appears to be sleeping as well, resting its large head on Aziraphale’s chest, slung over his shoulders and wrapped around his torso, winding around his right leg with its tail curled at his ankle.

“What the– I mean, well I can tell that it’s– But, I–” Newt whispers, struggling to form proper sentences. “What the fuck is this? Is he a witch? Is this a witch thing?”

“I mean, maybe,” Anathema hisses back. The snake, which doesn’t look like anything she’d imagine is native to the UK, is bigger and heftier than anything she’s seen in a zoo. The longer Anathema looks at it, she realizes that it’s giving off an aura of its own, intertwining with Aziraphale’s until one is indistinguishable from the other.

“Has he been, like, cursed or something?” A look of realization passes over Newt’s face, and he gapes anew. “Oh my god, is he dead?!”

Anathema narrows her eyes, studying the man carefully for the rise and fall of his chest. “I don’t think so.” She steps forward to look more closely, but her movement startles Newt and he throws his arm out, instinctually wanting to put himself between Anathema and the snake.

But all he succeeds in doing is sending her very impressive stack of books to the floor with a large crash.

A couple of things happen at once.

Aziraphale starts awake, clutching at the large serpent, still sluggish from sleep as he slurs, “Wha’s goin’ on?” Simultaneously, the snake’s eyes fly open, a brilliant gold hue, as it rears up protectively over Aziraphale, hissing in surprise and ready to strike against its perceived attackers. As people with just an inkling of self-preservation, Anathema and Newt scurry backward, but Anathema trips over one of the fallen books, taking Newt down with her when she scrambles to steady herself on his arm.

Anathema stills as she sees something peculiar in the snake’s eyes. It’s a startlingly human expression that looks almost like recognition before transforming into something akin to embarrassment. And then the snake is gone.

And red-headed gentleman is in its place, staring back at them with the same golden, serpentine eyes. Crowley.

What the fuck.

Unfortunately, the sudden appearance of a grown man on the couch sends (a still very sleepy) Aziraphale careening off of the couch and onto the floor with a pathetic sounding oof, from where he finally spots Anathema and Newt.

“Oh, lord. Crowley, dear, did you lock the door when you came in last night?”

Crowley sits stock still on the couch, his voice thin as he deadpans, “Obviousssly not, angel.”

Anathema regains her voice first, tentatively venturing, “So, you’re a snake?”

Aziraphale winces. Crowley maintains a carefully blank expression as he says, “Uh-huh.”

Something occurs to Anathema. Between the strange auras and generally peculiar behavior, it wouldn’t be the craziest conclusion to draw. “Are you Aziraphale’s familiar?”

“As in a familiar to a witch? You think that I’m a witch?” Aziraphale asks with an odd look on his face, not dissimilar to a parent trying their hardest to not let a child know that they’re displeased.

Anathema nods hesitantly.

Crowley sputters and then absolutely cackles. Aziraphale shoots him a thoroughly unimpressed look and he laughs even harder, tears streaming down his face. Eventually, he stops wheezing and wipes the tears from his face. “Oh, that was really good. Thank you for that, I’ll never let that go. A witch. Ha!”

“So,” Newt furrows his brow, “If you’re not a witch and a familiar, what are you two?”

Aziraphale exhales, looking rather chagrined.

“You know, I thought you said they knew?” Crowley asks, raising one eyebrow.

“Well, I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“It’s not actually–Hey!” Newt attempts to interject, only to be cut off when Anathema elbows him in the side. It makes her feel slightly guilty, but she has a desperate need to be in control right now, as there’s nothing she hates more than feeling out of her depth.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look, seemingly have an entire conversation in a few moments without saying anything at all, each man wearing a combination of sheepishness and exasperation, until they appear to reach an agreement.

“Get up off the floor, angel,” Crowley tugs Aziraphale up off the floor to sit next to him on the sofa, before looking to Newt and Anathema. “Alright, kiddies, pull up a chair.”

They scramble upwards, not particularly interested in disobeying the unknown supernatural entities, no matter how many times they’ve shared tea.

“Well,” Aziraphale clasps his hands together, suddenly smiling pleasantly. “In the beginning, in the Garden, there was– Well, he was a wily old Serpent and I was technically on apple tree duty. And I–” He cuts himself off as Crowley sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I love you, angel, but you do this every time,” Aziraphale opens his mouth to protest but Crowley turns to their guests. “Anathema. Newton. This is Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He is an angel in the literal sense. My name is Crowley. I am a demon, also in the literal sense. Any questions?”

It’s painfully quiet for a moment. Newt chuckles uncomfortably. Anathema shoots him an incredulous look. He stops. She needs to process this.

“So you’re, like, the snake? From the Garden of Eden?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re an angel? Halo? Wings? Harp?”

“Wings, yes. The halo and the harp are a bit of a stereotype, my dear.”

“And you guys are,” She searches for the right word, “Partners?”

Crowley snorts at her dumbstruck expression. “Yup.”

“Well, that’s…” Newt weighs his words, “Bizarre.”

“I suppose so, Mr. Pulsifer,” Aziraphale says, more to Crowley than Newt as he takes the demon’s hand, smiling sweetly at him. Crowley smiles back before averting his gaze to downward, clearly attempting to contain a much bigger grin. “Now was there something you two needed, barging in here on a Saturday morning?”

“Oh!” Anathema hops on from her chair to gather the books from the floor as she abashedly explains. “I was hoping to return these to you because we have to be a Pepper’s birthday party this afternoon, she’s a friend of Adam’s. We’re really sorry for intruding, but your door was unlocked, and that was so unlike you that we were a bit concerned.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale’s expression softens at that. “Well, I understand my dear, an honest mistake. Do pass our regards along to young Miss Pepper.”

“Of course! And would it be alright if we stopped back in tomorrow? I just finished The Cloud Atlas and I’d really love to discuss it with you.” She smiles hopefully, if somewhat sheepish.

“That would be delightful, Anathema.”

As they're making their way out of the shop, Anathema pauses and turns back for a moment. “And I’d love to see you around sometime, Mr. Crowley, and maybe we could all get to know each other better.”

Crowley quickly masks his surprise, settling on a subtly content expression. “Why, yes, Miss Device, I think that would be lovely.”

Perhaps now they would have two very odd new friends.

Once they’re sat in Dick Turpin once again, on their way back to Tadfield, Newt asks Anathema, “So, that all really happened right?”

“Mhm.”

“Giant snake?”

“Mhm.”

“Your book club buddy is an angel.”

“Yup.”

“And his boyfriend is a demon.”

“Seems so.”

“Right. Just checking.”

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girlwiththestories · 5 years

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Companion Piece to This is Love

He arrives a few minutes late, parks his car, and walks into the smoothie shop. He can’t help but feel apprehensive. He doesn’t see Trish yet but knows that he will be face to face with her in a few moments. What is he supposed to do and say? He has no idea. For all of his daydreaming about his future soulmate, he has never thought about what he’d actually say to her once he found her. He’s only been thinking about it since last night when he texted her about meeting up, and he’s still not any closer to an answer. He guesses he’ll find out what he’ll say when it comes out of his mouth. He feels himself shaking and reminds himself why he’s here. If he doesn’t talk to her and goes back to LA without getting on the same page, he’ll forever regret it. He doesn’t want that. This needs to be settled.

He’s awkwardly standing close to the line by the counter but not in it when he sees the door open and Trish appear. He smiles. This may be one of the more awkward moments of his life, but at least he’s with Trish. She’s such a great friend, and seeing her just reminds him of how grateful he is to have her in his life. Maybe this actually won’t be that bad.

“Hey,” she says coming up and standing next to him.

He almost gives her a hug, but then he remembers that they’re soulmates and that this just might be the beginning of forever. He stops himself. “Hey, I see you’re here now.”

She laughs this shallow, half-snort, half-laugh. “I did agree to come.”

She’s got sunglasses at the top of her head, and her curls look so glossy in the florescent light that he’s thinking about how long it has been since he’s touched them. And he’s struck again with their history and all the beautiful memories of fun times they both carry with them. He can’t stop himself this time and pulls her into a hug. “I missed you,” he says into her shoulder.

“I missed you too, Dez,” she replies. “You can let go now,” she adds after a moment releasing her grip on him.

He’s just not sure what to say. She smells wonderful, and he’s sure he didn’t remember that her sense of style while not edgy enough for his taste is still on point. Today’s leopard print leggings, black cami, and jean shirt are the perfect choice for her. “How are you?” he ventures.

She smiles, and it’s a genuine one that makes him smile too. “Good. Busy, you know.”

“Yeah,” he replies. As they wait their turn, they make smalltalk, and somewhere deep down, Dez knows that in a few hours he won’t even remember what they talked about. His mind is way too occupied with the conversation that’s coming and the fact that he still doesn’t know what to say. They grab their smoothies, and he follows Trish to a tall table in the corner where they sit down. They’re finally facing each other, and seeing her face across the table makes him feel like he isn’t up for this after all. She’s smiling. He figures her smoothie’s good, but it somehow also looks like a mischievous smirk. He’s known her for a long time; he knows what her mischievous smirk looks like, and this is it. He can feel her eyes looking at him at him; it’s as if she has a bet with herself about how long it will be until he says something. They sit taking long sips of their smoothies, saying nothing for several minutes until he can take it no longer. He sets his smoothie down. It lands on its side, and as he catches it, he squeezes it sending some of the pink liquid out the straw and onto the table. After setting his cup upright again, he excuses himself to get some extra napkins and comes back and hurriedly cleans up the mess. “There,” he says setting the napkins in a pile. “All clean.”

“Never a dull moment with you, doof,” she says laughingly. Her eyes twinkle, and he’s not sure why he didn’t remember that they twinkle. He can’t recall them twinkling before, but he’s sure they have. He must have just missed it. They’re so pretty he wants to touch them. Since he can’t, he thinks that perhaps drawing or painting them would be the next best thing. There’s softness in her facial expression that makes her comment feel more like a compliment than an insult. That gives him courage. Even if she has some bet going, she still wants to hear whatever he has to say. She showed up after all. “So we’re soulmates.” It comes out so quickly he has to take a breath afterword.

“It would appear so.” Her tone is even and almost nonchalant.

He looks down at his smoothie. He can’t see her face as he says whatever is coming next. “I didn’t think…you know…I didn’t expect it would be you. It’s not that…that I didn’t want it to be or something.” He can feel himself stumbling over his words. This is exactly what he was afraid of happening. Why didn’t he plan ahead? He can’t stop now, so he just goes with it. “I had no idea who it’d be. I guess I just…I just didn’t think it’d be somebody I knew.”

He glances up. He can face her now that he’s not speaking. He sees hurt in her eyes and feels ashamed. He’d never want to hurt her. His hands find his straw as he continues. “It’s not that I didn’t want it to be you. I’ve just not known for so long, and now, I do. And you know, Carrie.” He’s bending his straw back and forth and can’t even string proper sentences together. “But that’s all taken care of now. I’ve always wanted my soulmate, and I…I want to give this a try.” He curses himself for sounding so tentative, but he can’t help himself. He just feels so tremendously out of his element.

“I’m glad you wanted to take the chance to talk it over. I really appreciate that.” He can’t read her emotions at the moment, and it scares him a little. “I’m not just your soulmate, Dez. I’m a person, and I don’t want that to get lost here. I’m not going to be some vehicle for your dreams.” She stops for a moment, and he’s not sure where she’s going. Her eyes are on the table as she continues. “I’ve done that before, and I’m not doing that again. I’m happy to talk, but all I’ve agreed to is coming here.”

He doesn’t know what to say. She’s right; she’s a person who deserves just as much if not more than he does. “I’m sorry,” he ventures. “Will you let me try again?” He can feel now that the stakes are higher, higher than they ever were with Carrie. He’s got to put it all out there. “I’m not even sure what I’m doing. I just knew I had to see you, and we had to talk this out before I go back to LA. I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I’ll accept whatever you decide.”

He looks up, and she nods. “Go on.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “You’re too kind.” There’s so much graciousness in her giving him a second chance he doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t deserve this kindness when he was the one who asked her here to tell her something and promptly hurt her feelings. But she’s not mad. He feels her eyes on him again, and it’s this intense stare that makes him feel like all of him is on display. There’s this discomfort in being so exposed, but at the same time, he knows it’s because she cares about him enough to hear what he has to say. He wonders if perhaps soulmates have more to do with coming across someone you could have this with than who you end up with after all. “But yeah, I do want to talk about it more. I used to have my heart set on this, but all those years…” He doesn’t know how to explain it. “I don’t anymore. I know life and even having a soulmate isn’t a fairytale. I just want to be where I’m supposed to be; I don’t want to be too afraid to do what I’m supposed to do. And it appears life has lead me to you.”

She smiles, but says nothing seemingly noticing that he’s not done.

“Even if it weren’t for the whole soulmates thing, I’d want to ask you out. You’re so pretty and more confident than I’d ever dream of being.” He feels a smile spread across his face. She’s so incredible. “But yeah, I think you’re an amazing person matching marks aside. Maybe the soulmates thing is making me do something and keeping me from being a lazy bum who doesn’t ask, but yes, I’m interested in you. I want to see what we have, what the future would look like if we were side-by-side.”

“Yes,” she says so quietly he’s not sure he heard correctly. “I’m up for giving this a try.”

He turns his voice to a loud whisper. “I’m so glad it’s you. There’s not many people who’d be okay with me being a bumbling idiot.”

She places her hand on his arm gently. “You’re not an idiot. You’ve never been an idiot. And the bumbling is actually very endearing.” Her eyes are twinkling, and he feels so warm inside. She loves him already. How did he get that lucky?

He’s so overcome with emotion that as if by impulse he walks over to her chair, places his arms around her, and kisses her. He immediately wonders if she’ll pull back; she doesn’t. When he stands up a moment later to catch a breath, his heart is racing. Before he knows it, she’s standing before him on her tiptoes trying to reach his face for another kiss. He leans down and obliges. She’s so adorable.

When they break apart a moment later, they do sit down again, but she grabs his hand. “So us?” she says.

“Yes,” he says his heart overcome with joy. He squeezes her hand. “Us.”

#trez #trez fic #dez x trish #trish x dez #soulmates au #soulmates #dez #austin and ally fanfiction #austin & ally

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needsmoresarcasm · 5 years

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Favorite Books of 2018

I read a lot of books in 2018. Here are my favorites (not counting books I re-read), in basically no order. (But actually kind of an order.)

22. Going Rogue, Drew Hayes

Going Rogue is the third book in Drew Hayes’s Spells, Swords, and Stealth series. The series is told in two parts: it follows a group of people playing a Dungeons & Dragons-style role-playing game and a group of non-playable characters in the world of said game. The thrust of the story is on the group of NPCs, which unfolds as a typical fantasy adventure. It’s got a straightforward quest narrative, an adventuring party (turned found family), and impossible odds. As the stories progress, the players begin to sense that the game has its own agency and the characters begin to sense that there may be someone controlling their world. But mostly it’s a fun, self-aware take on a typical fantasy adventure that toys with fantasy tropes.

21. Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I steeled myself for dense literary fiction when I cracked open Americanah, the story of Ifemelu, a Nigerian girl who moves to America and wrestles with race and identity. But that was all for naught because Americanah was one of the easiest reads of the year. The writing is breezy, and the story is funny and brisk. It dissects race and culture in America both by showing (Ifemelu’s struggles to define herself in a new country) and telling (Ifemelu’s hilarious blog posts). Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie seems to have perfected the art of delivering dense observations in delightful, consumer-friendly prose. Old white dude authors should probably take note.

20. What If It’s Us, Becky Albertalli & Adam Silvera

If I’m going to read a romance, I want it to be light, fluffy, gay, and conflict-free. And that’s exactly what What If It’s Us delivers. The book begins with a meet cute: while mailing a box of his ex-boyfriend’s stuff, Ben bumps into Arthur at the post office. Arthur and Ben are both appropriately awkward and endearing, bumbling and pawing their way through a relationship as only teenagers can. Every character is essentially kind and caring. There are no villains or bullies, no one gets ostracized or beaten, no one dies. The tension mostly stems from the fact that Arthur is only in the city for the summer, which only barely counts as a conflict. And while the universe of the story may be unrealistically polished, their relationship is refreshingly imperfect. Adam Silvera and Becky Albertalli are telling a story of young love, not necessarily true love.

19. The Collapsing Empire / The Consuming Fire, John Scalzi

John Scalzi built an astoundingly engrossing world in The Collapsing Empire. The human race has colonized far flung planets with the help of the Flow system, naturally occurring pathways between various planets across the universe that allows otherwise impossible interstellar travel. The Collapsing Empire follows the sharp, sarcastic Cardenia Wu, the newly crowned empress, and sweet, in-over-his-head Marce Claremont, a Flow physicist in far-flung End who has discovered something off with the Flow. It’s got a roiling pace, packed with space battles, political jockeying, and a whole host of delightful characters. It’s one of those audiobooks (narrated by Wil Wheaton) that was so compulsively listenable that I ended up taking long, meandering walks just to hear what happened next.

18. The Shell Collector, Anthony Doerr

Anthony Doerr’s writing is incredible. His sentences all feel divined from the ether. And the short story is the perfect vehicle for that writing, lasting just long enough to build an atmospheric world. Most of the stories are tinged with a little magical realism, used mostly to underscore the unique, grounded humanity of his characters. The collection dives into the histories of people who are in various degrees removed from society and intertwined with nature. But the ultimate thesis, refreshingly, is not about the corruption of society, but rather the inherent value of people.

17. Giovanni’s Room, James Baldwin

I don’t know that I have anything new or interesting to say about James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room. A story about desire, and maybe love, between David and Giovanni, every word of that book is filled with intense, crushing emotion desperately crashing onto the pages. It’s about love and sexuality, told in an intimate-verging-on-claustrophobic manner. It’s powerful and interminably depressing and beautiful and devastating. But it’s not devastating because it’s gay, it’s just both devastating and gay.

16. Goodbye, Vitamin, Rachel Khong

Goodbye, Vitamin opens with the main character, Ruth, going through a breakup and dealing with early signs of her father’s Alzheimer’s disease. And somehow, Goodbye, Vitamin is also fun, funny, and heart-warming. The book is sunny and endearing, even as Ruth herself struggles with caring for her father and finding her own identity. Most things described as quirky may be better described as annoying, but there truly is no better word for this book’s sensibility than quirky. The specificity of the descriptions and the cleverness of the wordplay make for a delightful, sometimes deeply poignant, read.

15. Less, Andrew Sean Greer

In many ways, Less shares beats with the incredibly overdone, deeply uninteresting novel about a middle-aged white guy who goes through a midlife crisis and suffers the pain of his own brilliance. Indeed, Less follows Arthur Less as he hits fifty, gets invited to his ex’s wedding, and then travels around the world to avoid confronting any of his problems. But Less is decidedly different: it’s gay. Which means it’s funnier, sharper, and drastically more self-aware. Arthur Less - and Andrew Sean Greer - recognizes the absurdity of his disproportionate reaction to relatively minor problems. He has no delusions of grandeur. He’s not on a journey to unlock his inner genius, just a journey to maybe buy a new jacket and have a fling or two. It’s delightful and funny and warm even as it pretends not to be.

14. More Happy Than Not, Adam Silvera

The devastation of More Happy Than Not cuts in sharp pains and deep gashes. The tragic turns - and in a book about a teenage kid who considers a science fiction equivalent of gay conversion therapy there are many - come as punches to the face, not as lingering aches. And yet, the book doesn’t feel punishing to read. Adam Silvera derives no pleasure from Aaron’s, the aforementioned teen, suffering and carefully builds the foundation of Aaron’s character on his triumphs and joys. Aaron’s life is vibrant and bristling with possibility, streaked, but not consumed, by pain. More Happy Than Not is meticulously plotted and paced, with a few moments of genuine surprise. As always, Adam Silvera writes about tragedy in an entirely uncynical way, with a deep well of generosity for his characters.

13. Witchmark, C.L. Polk

In many ways, Witchmark feels like the book I spent this entire year trying to find. Witchmark takes place in a pseudo-historical early 20th century England-style setting, in the throes of some capital-W War. Most of the book is styled as a mystery: Miles, a former army doctor, and Tristan, a mysterious outsider, track down clues and chase leads to find a murderer. And, of course, maybe they fall in love along the way. And, oh yeah, Miles is a witch. Oh and also, maybe there’s some royal family drama happening as well. And maybe also some government conspiracies. And also maybe a much larger mystery that involves all of the above. There’s magic and romance and mystery and intrigue and action, and every part of it is completely satisfying. Especially if you’re the type of person who would like to read a scene in which said army doctor needs help undressing because he broke his wrist, and luckily there’s (literally magically) handsome mystery man there to help him!!! (Listen, I never said this was particularly profound literature.) But like, five stars.

12. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore / Sourdough, Robin Sloan

If you want a cozy, feel-good novel that has just the slightest dash of magic, then pick up a Robin Sloan book. Both Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore and Sourdough read as relaxing balms to help soothe aches brought on by the disaster fire of reality. In both books, a young twenty-something attempting to figure out their life discovers a niche world (book collecting and bread baking) and gets swept up in a fantastical mystery. They’re breezy, warm, and brimming with genuine affection and curiosity for the subjects at their centers. Sloan’s writing is incredibly sensory; you can taste the bread and smell the books. They have that Great British Bake Off quality to them: impossibly compelling despite low stakes and uniform pleasantness.

11. Little Fires Everywhere, Celeste Ng

Celeste Ng’s second novel is a careful study of privilege of all sorts, and an especially incisive look into whiteness. Little Fires Everywhere takes place in Shaker Heights, Ohio, a progressive slice of white suburbia. At the book’s center are the Richardsons, a well-off white family who are the types of people that may tell you that they don’t see race--in part because everyone they see is also white. Things get shaken up when Mia Warren and her daughter Pearl arrive in town, marked as strange by their relative lack of wealth, and marked as even stranger by their lack of shame about it. Each sentence is beautifully written, and each paragraph immaculately constructed. But honestly, the book is best summed up as: this is some white people nonsense.

10. The Lymond Chronicles (#1-6), Dorothy Dunnett

The Lymond Chronicles books are both the most high brow and most low brow books I read this year. They are densely written and plotted, with an inexhaustible supply of names for characters and teeming with minute details that almost all portend some future event or revelation. But they’re also chock-full of soap opera-style twists and tropes, aimed to quench your id’s every desire. All this makes for books that demand a lot, but then pay off with hilarious jokes, action sequences that convey more physicality and movement than most movies, and ridiculous third act reveals that are so incredibly satisfying. And like, on a selfish level, it’s also real satisfying to read about people falling in love with and then aggressively berating Francis Crawford for three thousand pages. (He deserves it.)

9. My Life as a Goddess, Guy Branum

I read, or rather listen to, tons of memoirs - by comedians, actors, politicians, and writers. And Guy Branum’s My Life as a Goddess is easily my favorite of the year. Branum incisively writes about growing up as a gay kid in truly the-middle-of-nowhere California, touching on issues of masculinity, sexuality, class, body image, and education. Unsurprisingly, My Life as a Goddess is hilarious, chock-full of jokes and witty observations. More surprisingly, My Life as a Goddess is also deeply emotional, especially as Branum writes about his relationship as his father. Even more surprisingly, My Life as a Goddess is weirdly informative about a very specific slice of Canadian history. I cannot recommend the audiobook of this enough, as Guy Branum’s narration is smart, funny, and winning.

8. All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr

Does anyone really want to read a Pulitzer Prize winning literary fiction novel written by some white dude about World War II half from the point of view of a goddamn Nazi? No. No one wants to read that. Except, maybe I do. Because that’s exactly what All the Light We Cannot See is, and man is it a true revelation. The sheer humanity that Doerr imparts in his story creates a profoundly moving story, about goodness and cruelty and the indiscriminate destruction of war. The events of the story are uniformly bleak, as expected in a World War II novel, and yet the book’s tone feels decidedly hopeful, hungry to extract optimism from human persistence. It’s a stunningly written book that lays bare the complexities of people and the horrors of war.

7. Bad Blood, John Carreyrou

Bad Blood was truly the most unbelievable story I read this year. Wizards? Aliens? Time travel? All relatively believable compared to the intense, densely plotted, thrilling tale that unravels in Bad Blood, made all the more incredible by its truth. Bad Blood tells the story of Theranos, a Silicon Valley startup that claimed to be revolutionizing blood testing, and its founder Elizabeth Holmes, once described on magazine covers as “the next Steve Jobs.” John Carreyrou, the author, was the journalist who first broke the story of Theranos’s rampant fraud, and he stitches together a coherent, mesmerizing narrative from first-hand accounts of Theranos employees. Elizabeth Holmes is a fascinating antagonist, an ambitious, callous, maybe sociopath. The story is exciting and frustrating and will make you have even less faith in rich, powerful white people. But because this is non-fiction, the entire time you know that Elizabeth Holmes is eventually going to end up being charged with numerous federal crimes. A truly satisfying ending.

6. Hyperbole and a Half, Allie Brosh

Allie Brosh didn’t invent the internet, but she at least has as much claim to modern internet culture as any other individual. Hyperbole and a Half is a collection of her best blog posts, with some additional, equally hilarious, stories thrown in. I hadn’t revisited her blog in years, and so it was striking just how little her style has aged. In a time where internet memes have life spans measured in hours, Hyperbole and a Half feels fresh nearly a decade later. The influence of her style and perspective on the internet is far-reaching. From the hilarious (her distinctively drawn self-rendering triumphantly declaring “CLEAN ALL THE THINGS” while holding a broom) to the insightful (her two-part essay on the amorphous gray muck of depression), her stories all feel as though they could be the origin story for any piece of internet ephemera. Hyperbole and a Half is at times farcical, at times poignant, and always raucously funny.

5. Shades of Magic (#1-3), V.E. Schwab

The Shades of Magic series (A Darker Shade of Magic, A Gathering of Shadows, and A Conjuring of Light) is the perfect fantasy adventure: the characters are imminently rootable, the world is seeped in magic, and the plot is intoxicating. The books are set in London, or Londons, rather. There are four parallel Londons, which have embraced, rejected, or surrendered to magic to varying degrees. Our protagonist, Kell, is one of the few with the ability to travel between the different Londons. And, well, hijinks ensue. Dark, sprawling, brutal, violent, life-consuming hijinks.

The Shades of Magic series is unburdened by its worldbuilding; V.E. Schwab could probably teach a semester’s worth of history lessons on her world, but does not feel the need show that off in the books themselves. They’re books to be devoured, not dissected. But it’s the characters that make the series so engrossing. Everyone is an archetype-a street-worn thief, a charming prince-but so well-drawn and understood that every character moment sparkles. And the central relationship of the book, between Kell and his brother Rhy, felt as though it was perhaps extracted directly from my brain. Kell is stoic, burdened by responsibility but determined to protect. Rhy, the aforementioned charming prince, injects Kell’s life with mischief and levity, and they’re so fundamentally dedicated to each other that it hurts. If a bunch of well-meaning idiots trying to save the world with magic is your thing, A Darker Shade of Magic may be the series for you.

4. Everything I Never Told You, Celeste Ng

If you thought a quiet, contained rumination on race, gender, nationality, and culture couldn’t also be a compelling, tense page-turner, let me introduce you to Everything I Never Told You. Everything I Never Told You is nothing short of literary alchemy. It begins with the death of Lydia, the model daughter of the Lee family--and, really, the model daughter of 1970s America. The book unravels the mystery of Lydia’s death, told through the vignettes from the lives of the Lee family members.

Celeste Ng is a master at using a paragraph to describe years of a character’s history and decades of American society all at once. Her characters are specific and sharply drawn, rooted deeply in their time and environment. Lydia, with a Chinese father and a white mother, is mixed race (a term not added to the U.S. Census until 2000)--“one of only two Orientals” at her school. The other, her brother Nathan, has learned to live in Lydia’s shadow in their parents’ mind’s eye. Marilyn, Lydia’s mother, had her own ambitions sidelined by family. With a deft, heartfelt touch, Everything I Never Told You viscerally conveys their regrets for the words left unsaid and lives left unlived.

3. History Is All You Left Me, Adam Silvera

As this list makes clear, I loved a lot of Adam Silvera this year, and History Is All You Left Me stands out as my favorite. In dual timelines, History Is All You Left Me tells the story of Griffin after and up to the accident in which his ex-boyfriend Theo dies unexpectedly. And so, yes, the book is soaked in grief and loss. And, yes, it’s devastating and aching. But it’s also incredibly kind and empathetic. The characters are teenagers and make the choices of teenagers. Their actions are messy and rash and stupid, and Silvera leans into that, landing more than one self-inflicted heart-wrenching blow. But Silvera is also unfailingly patient with teenagers and understands their resilience; he lets his characters make mistakes and has faith that they will survive. And so the book is heavy, but optimistic. A refreshing reprieve from the gratuitous suffering and bleakness that tortures so much LGBT-themed fiction. History Is All You Left Me is the most affecting book I read all year, and it still lingers in my bones. But the impression it has left is of life, not loss.

2. An American Sickness, Elisabeth Rosenthal

I bristle when someone describes a book as “important.” It always seems patronizing and self-serving, and my natural contrarian kicks in. I get it, you want to tell everyone how well-read or socially conscious you are because you read an “important” book. So it is with eyes wide open, and more than a twinge of self-loathing, that I say An American Sickness is an important book. It feels like essential reading, certainly for anyone trying to affect American healthcare policy, and at the very least useful for anyone who ever has to deal with the American healthcare system. It will make you angry and frustrated, but hopefully it will also arm you with information.

An American Sickness is broken up into two distinct parts: the first half lays out the issues with the current healthcare system, including how it came to be, and the second half presents solutions. Dr. Elisabeth Rosenthal writes accessibly about potentially dry, dense subject matter. The book’s purpose is not to exhaustively detail the history of healthcare, but to better equip the average person to navigate the system. Dr. Rosenthal provides anecdotes to anchor the matter in tangible issues and gives just enough context to sketch the motivations of the various actors - doctors, hospitals, insurers, pharma companies, etc. She presents solutions from two perspectives: (1) changing healthcare policy as a whole, and (2) navigating the system as an individual. In a methodical, step-by-step manner, the book explains concrete things a regular person can look out for, questions they can ask, and actions they can take to avoid--or challenge--exorbitant medical bills. There’s literally an appendix with fill-in-the-blank form letters to use to request billing information and challenge bills. You don’t have to read this book, but I want you to.

1. Chemistry, Weike Wang

Sometimes a book is so intimately catered to you it’s as if the author waded through your subconscious, fished out the tangled threads of your thoughts, and then wove them into a tapestry that displayed every single one of your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. For me, that book is Chemistry. Chemistry follows an unnamed Asian American protagonist who is discontented with her current situation: her long-term boyfriend, her Chemistry PhD program, and her relationship with her parents. And the novel unfolds as she comes to terms with that discontentment.

The economy of Weike Wang’s writing is spellbinding. She uses words so efficiently and so cleverly to craft sentences that seem fundamental. On seemingly every page, there was a new observation that felt so obviously true that I was surprised I had never read those exact words before. The book is filled with jokes, driven by the protagonist’s wry sarcasm and gentle disdain for things and people generally. The whole thing is somehow both simple and complex, an easily digestible read with a deceptively complex flavor. There are no splashy revelations or sudden tragedies, only hard-earned emotional truths and the realities of getting by. Chemistry nails the general spirit of just attempting to function as a normal human person in 2018.

#books #weike wang #adam silvera #celeste ng #ve schwab

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nocaptainreuben · 6 years

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Countdown to YALC: Noah Can’t Even by Simon James Green

I’ve been incredibly lax on review writing lately (thank you Assassin’s Creed! 😂) but believe it or not, I have made some progress on my YALC TBR, so now that the festival is fast approaching, I figured it was time to fill you in on what I’ve been reading. First up, was a book I was excited for since I heard about it at last year’s YALC: Noah Can’t Even by Simon James Green.

Poor Noah Grimes! His father disappeared years ago, his mother’s Beyoncé tribute act is an unacceptable embarrassment, and his beloved gran is no longer herself. He only has one friend, Harry, and school is… well, it’s pure HELL. Why can’t Noah be normal, like everyone else at school? Maybe if he struck up a romantic relationship with someone – maybe Sophie, who is perfect and lovely – he’d be seen in a different light? But Noah’s plans are derailed when Harry kisses him at a party. That’s when things go from bad to utter chaos.

If you know anything about me, you’ll know I’m a sucker for books with LGBT+ themes and characters, and I love a funny book, so Noah sounded perfect to me. This skinny, nerdy, awkward little boy captured my heart and made me smile so much. I know a lot of people don’t like the trope of nerdy teenagers who are obsessed with grammar and retro things like Murder She Wrote, and say that it’s unrealistic and just comes across as pretentious. I, however, find quirky geekery such as this super relatable, and as long as it’s believable for the individual character rather than feeling like something from the author’s personality which has been shoehorned in, I’m fine with teen characters having a bit more of an ‘old soul’. Noah was one of these characters who fit that mould perfectly, and he was so sweet, innocent and endearing; watching him tripping over his words, and generally being a bumbling mess, just made me want to scoop him up and look after him. The awkward humour worked so well, making me cringe in discomfort and embarrassment in places, and laugh (dare I say, snort) out loud in others.

Something I was really impressed to see was the author’s approach to dementia in the book. This subject strikes me as a really tricky thing to include in a comedy book, as it would have been easy for it to be distasteful and seem as though Green was wringing cheap laughs out of a serious, horrible illness. It was, however, handled beautifully and tactfully, in a way which added something to the story and potentially educated its readers. Instead of shying away from the humour, the narrative acknowledged that sometimes the strange conversations Gran’s dementia would cause did, in fact, seem funny, and there were definitely quirks amongst her personality and behaviour which added to this, but it also kept returning to the sadness Noah felt and how he wished he could have his old Gran back. Green wrote their relationship with a gentle touch which felt respectful and faithful to people experiencing the same thing in real life, which was lovely to read.

In terms of the plot, whilst there was a ‘coming out’ element to the story, I was happy to find that it didn’t feel like something I’d read a million times before. When Noah was struggling, it didn’t feel like it was because he wasn’t ok with his sexuality or was denying it, but instead that he wouldn’t mind whether he was gay or not, but simply didn’t know the answer and was uncomfortable with the uncertainty. That’s an angle I’ve not really seen portrayed much, but it’s definitely something a lot of people will relate to so it was refreshing to read this different take on a coming of age narrative. On the whole, it was a really interesting, multilayered story that didn’t feel stale in any way, and kept me invested right til the end. With some great characters, lovely relationships, and just the right amount of action, it had me chuckling, ‘aww’ing, and more than looking forward to reading the next one.

Simon James Green will be at YALC this year signing copies of Noah Can’t Even and the follow up, Noah Could Never, so if you’re coming along I strongly suggest you get your hands on a copy, and get ready to laugh and cry with your new fictional best friend. And if you’ve read the book already, let me know what you thought! As always, you can get in touch on Twitter and Instagram, and follow me on both for more bookish content, along with a sprinkling of doggo appreciation, bow tie selfies, and Brooklyn 99 gifs.

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lairep · 7 years

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Chat Noir Finds Out (Part 3)

Summary: Chat Noir drops in for a visit and things go as well as expected.

Next Part || Part 1, 2 || Ao3 Link || Other Works

Coincides with Day 1 of Marichat May (Milk). Hope you all enjoy this mess of a chapter--- C: (Thanks so much for giving me the courage to post, btw.)

Chapter 3: The Night After Chat Noir Found Out

What could possibly go wrong?

Apparently, a lot of things.

He was Chat Noir, after all. Why he ever thought this was a good idea was beyond him.

His plan was to knock on her window, give her his two-finger salute, let her squeal a little because he knew she was a total fangirl deep inside, and maybe flex a little just because he could.

Then he would spend a bit of time with her before easing into the fact that he found out she was Ladybug and that he was actually Adrien Agreste, her classmate.

All this while acting like the cool cat he always was and not the blundering, embarrassing boy he had been that morning.

Simple, to the point, and completely fool-proof, right?

Wrong.

First, because he chose the wrong time to think about possibly seeing Marinette in her pajamas, instead of gracefully landing by her window, he crash-landed onto her rooftop balcony and knocked over two of her potted plants.

Second, the potted plants he just murdered scattered dirt and plant corpses all over her rooftop door.

Third, when Marinette opened the rooftop door, because he made an inordinate amount of noise with his entrance and subsequent incoherent shrieking, all the soil and plants fell on top of her and all over her hair.

And lastly, she was mad. Understandably so. He definitely saw the look of unbridled shock and annoyance on her face before she schooled it into a neutral, but still very scary, expression.

As if there weren’t enough things he could get in trouble for tonight.

“Chat Noir,” she said, her tone flat, brushing the dirt away from her hair, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending. Then, realizing he was just asked a question, he answered with the first thing that came into his head.

“Pajamas!”

It took only a few seconds of introspection to realize what he said. He hit his forehead with the heel of his palm, making a strong, audible smack. Really, Chat Noir? Pajamas? She owed the pleasure of your visit to pajamas? Way to sound like a grade-A pervert.

He could hear Plagg’s sarcastic ‘smooth’ comment resound in his head.

Marinette made no move to climb out of her door, possibly to avoid more dirt getting on her, but her neutral expression morphed into confusion and just a little bit of worry. It made his heart swell. His Lady was worried about him!

…or she was worried that a local superhero randomly showed up on her balcony to murder some plant-life and possibly perv on her in her pajamas.

Well, that didn’t make him feel better.

“Are you okay, Chat?” Marinette asked, her head tilted cutely to the side.

He totally meant to say ‘This cat is doing pawsome!’ with his usual flair, but somehow he ended up scandalously yelling at her, “Stop being so cute!”

Marinette froze.

Chat Noir froze.

Seconds ticked by.

Finally, Marinette slowly extracted herself from her door and carefully made her way onto the roof. She brushed herself off and walked a little closer to him.

“Chat?” she called to him, her brows furrowing. She stared at him, unblinking, possibly waiting for him to explain himself.

He took a deep shuddering breath. Then he started pacing across the small space of the balcony.

He was Chat Noir. Hero of Paris, partner to Ladybug. He faced and fought akuma that people ran away from in terror, and had risked all nine of his lives more than once to protect the city and its inhabitants. To protect Ladybug, the love of his life.

He was totally cool and awesome and he was just going to talk to a girl. This should be a cakewalk.

Well, except it was a girl who happened to be Ladybug in her civilian form. But that shouldn’t make any difference. He interacted with Ladybug and Marinette just fine before all this.

Where this nervousness was coming from, he wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe it was the guilt that he broke her trust. Accidentally though! And he was here to come clean so being nervous about it defeats the whole purpose of his visit. While he might just be a tad worried that she would make cat soup out of him, that alone wouldn’t make him a complete bumbling fool.

Maybe it was the fact that he honestly had no idea how to proceed from an identity reveal. He did have a plan or two (involving a candle-lit dinner on top of the Eiffel tower) but he didn’t expect the reveal to be while he was hanging over a fire escape like a piece of laundry and Ladybug being completely oblivious to it, so his plans were now moot.

Maybe he was scared of her rejection.

Pining after Ladybug was one thing. But now that he knew she was Marinette, one of the most amazing people he’d ever met in his life, maybe he was intimidated by the combination of two most incredible girls he knew. Because, not to sound conceited or anything, he probably had a fair chance with either Ladybug or Marinette if they were two separate people.

But Ladybug and Marinette as one person? That combo of a girl was definitely out of his league.

Oh.

Oh, okay.

So that was where the nervousness came from.

“Chat Noir?” Marinette tried again after seeing him finally stop pacing on her roof. Bless her for being patient enough to wait his anxiety out.

Still, he mused, he had to talk to her eventually. If he left now, he would have killed a pair of potted plants, made a mess on her balcony, wasted Marinette’s time, and ended up looking like a total weirdo, all for nothing. It was now or never.

Breathing deep again, he raised his hand to her, looking away so he could concentrate, and finally managed, “Sorry, can you let me try again?”

Marinette blinked. Adorably. “Oh, um, sure?”

“Great!”

Chat Noir then ushered her back into her room, careful to avoid more dirt getting anywhere else, and vaulted to the neighbouring rooftop.

After a few moments to compose himself—cool cat, he was a super cool, awesome, good-looking cat—and another deep, deep breath, he carefully crossed back over from the next roof onto her window. He peered inside to see Marinette staring up at her trapdoor with a bewildered look. Grinning at how endearing that was, he knocked on the window and gave a two-finger salute when she turned around.

“Hello, purrincess,” he purred when she opened her window, just as was planned. Cool cat, cool cat. “How are mew doing this fine evening?”

Marinette gave him a raised eyebrow and an indulgent smile that made him melt inside. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. It was so cute but he was a cool cat, so he composed himself.

“Well,” she began with some inflection, “I was doing homework like a good student. But then some weird, giant cat wreaked havoc on my rooftop, so now I have to clean his mess up.”

He felt the ears on his head flatten against his hair, and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Apawlogies,” he said, smiling guiltily. Then he flexed an arm, just as planned, and continued, “This heroic cat can lend you a helping paw with the clean-up,” he flexed his other arm, “if you’d be willing to let him in.”

“Deal,” Marinette replied, giggling a little, and she stepped aside to let him in.

“By the way, nice pajamas,” Chat Noir said, grinning as he gathered the shattered pieces of the pots into his gloved hands.

They were really nice, indeed. Pink with white polka-dots. Just a little too big for her. It made her look like a soft baby Ladybug, ready for a cute little catnap under the covers. The thought gave him such a tangible feeling of delight, he could almost taste it.

Marinette looked up from her sweeping to give him a look of disbelief. Then she grabbed a handful of the dirt in her dustpan and threw it at him.

He dodged expertly and waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Ugh,” Marinette groaned out, shaking her head, and he was delighted to hear the striking Ladybug-ness of it. Absently, he thought of how he’d never seen or heard her act this way around him as Adrien. It felt like he would’ve caught onto her being Ladybug earlier if she acted this way around him more often.

Back when he met her as Chat Noir to fight the Evillustrator, she had acted nothing like the tough hero Ladybug she actually was and more like the damsel-in-distress civilian Marinette he apparently knew. He always appreciated that he had one such fangirl in Marinette Dupain-Cheng with all her gushing and swooning that he—

Wait a minute.

He watched her as she separated the plants from the dirt she’d swept up. He looked at her as the moonlight shone against her dark hair and illuminated the soft features that made up her face.

Her cute, cunning face.

Chat Noir felt the grin split across his face before registering the feeling of absolute glee. She played him.

Marinette, Ladybug, played him. That time with the Evillustrator, where she’d asked him to protect her; her secret mission had been to be Marinette. She had been acting when she gushed and swooned about working with Chat Noir to save Paris. She had been pretending to be a fangirl to throw him off. She completely, boldly played him.

And he fell for it.

He couldn’t explain why that made him so happy, but it did. It was just so adorable and funny and he should totally be disappointed that Ladybug didn’t turn out to secretly be a Chat Noir fan. But no, this was amazing. This girl was amazing.

Oh, god, and she’d called herself cute. At him.

‘Cute, isn’t she?’ she had said about herself.

Unable to stop himself, Chat Noir leaned against the closest railing and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Marinette asked from across him, watching him with wary and confused eyes.

He took a deep breath and looked at her to respond… but couldn’t stop the next bout of laughter that burst out of him at the sight of her face. Ladybug complimented herself to him! Literally asked him if he thought she was cute!

“N-nothing, princess,” he managed out, after another breath. He wiped the tears of laughter that leaked from his eyes. “Just remembering something great.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes at him, disbelieving. He could almost see the spotted mask over her face with that expression. Even while holding the broom and the dustpan and wearing soft pink polka-dotted pajamas, she stood just as regal as the red and black spotted hero he fought to protect Paris with.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was so Ladybug.

And Chat Noir was a complete goner.

Seeing his face plastered all over her walls was definitely something he didn’t expect.

It took him a while to notice, being that he couldn’t take his eyes off her—she had baby pink polka-dot pajamas on, okay?—the whole time they were cleaning up the mess he made. When they went back into the room and she left to get some snacks, her absence allowed his eyes to wander.

And he was met with his face. And his face. And his face again. And his face once more.

Marinette, Ladybug, had pictures of him, Adrien Agreste, plastered all over her room.

He was going to faint.

What did this mean? What could this possibly mean?

She liked fashion, right? Maybe she liked his father’s designs. That made sense, right?

Except it was all him. He wasn’t the only person to model his father’s designs. Sure, he was at the forefront of most of it, but there were other models. Surely, if she were just interested in her father’s designs, she would put up posters of other models and clothes, right?

Was he being conceited in thinking that maybe, just maybe Marinette happened to have a crush on him? On Adrien Agreste?

…nah, couldn’t be.

After all, even though he considered her a friend, they didn’t really know each other all that well. He always chalked it up to the fact that he made a really bad impression on her on his first day. It probably also didn’t help that as a famous model and son to a famous designer, he tended to intimidate quite a number of people, especially those with an interest in the fashion industry.

She couldn’t even look at him without stuttering or mixing up her words. Sometimes she even avoided him or seemed downright uncomfortable interacting with him. She hid behind Alya a lot too whenever he approached. There was just no way she’d have a crush on him with the way she was acting.

Funny, thinking about it now, that sounded a bit like how he was this morning. What a strange coinci—

His eyes fell on her desk and all his thoughts halted to a stop.

Was that a picture of him in a photo frame?

On her desk?

Why, yes, Mr. Chat Noir, that was indeed a photo of you smiling gallantly in a nice mahogany picture frame.

But why would she—?

Chat Noir felt his body go slack as a whole universe exploded in his brain. A universe filled with red and black spots and pink pajamas and Marinette and Ladybug and photo frames with his face in them.

He stared reverently at his framed photo on her desk as though it held the secret to life itself. Never had he thought there would come a day when he would worship anything that had his face on it. But here he was, staring at the priceless artifact that just now taught him one of the most valuable truths he could ever know in his life.

The truth that Marinette was totally crushing on him.

The truth that, in some convoluted way, they actually liked each other back.

The girl he was in love with had a crush on him.

To wit, Marinette was Ladybug, and she had a crush on Adrien Agreste. He was Adrien, and also Chat Noir, and he was in love with Ladybug. Ladybug, who turned out to be Marinette, liked Adrien, who was Chat Noir. So Ladybug and Adrien liked each other and Marinette and Chat Noir… liked each other?

No, no, Adrien and Marinette liked each other? And Ladybug and Chat Noir liked each other?

No, wait…

Chat Noir liked Ladybug and Marinette liked Adrien and Chat Noir was Marinette and Adrien was Ladybug and Ladybug liked Marinette and Adrien liked Chat Noir and—

Okay, that needed to stop right now.

His brain was going to melt. If it hadn’t already.

Just how many revelations was he going to get in the next twenty-four hours? He was just maybe a teensy-weensy bit not properly equipped to handle all this information at once.

He needed to sit down and think. But he couldn’t. His whole being was practically buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t place. Ladybug liked him! What should he do? What did it mean? Could they date now? Bake a cake? Would he become Chat Dupain-Cheng? Would she become Marinette Noir? Lady Agreste? Adrien Bug? Would those names be legal enough for them to adopt kittens together?

He didn’t know how long he stood there trying to process this information. His brain managed to calm down for a bit, at the very least, although it managed to fly into a fantasy of him and Marinette becoming a pair of old crazy cat-lovers with twenty-seven cats and a steady diet of cake.

Before he knew it, reality knocked on the door and Marinette was back with a plate of cookies and some milk.

“I hope you like cookies,” she said brightly, placing the plate and the milk on her desk. She turned around and frowned when she saw that he hadn’t moved from his spot in the middle of her floor and was staring her. “What?”

Chat Noir blinked at her. Okay, be a cool cat. Cool cat. He gulped and casually pointed a thumb at her walls, “So you like models, huh?” His voice totally didn’t crack, by the way.

Her face went from its normal colour to a deep, tomato red in under a second. “You weren’t supposed to see that!” she shrieked, running over to one of the larger posters and picking desperately at the tape on the edge.

He chortled, just a little, feeling more composed by the second because of her antics. He crossed over the room and took her hand from the poster to pull her away. “Too late to take them down now, princess. Already saw them.”

Groaning, his Lady let herself be led away from the poster. “This is so embarrassing.”

“So,” Chat Noir drawled teasingly, unable to keep the happy grin off his face, “looks like someone’s got a crush.”

Marinette groaned again, snatching her hand from his to cover her face. “Shut up and eat your cookies.”

Still grinning, he obliged good-naturedly, hopping onto her desk chair and snatching up a cookie. Humming happily as he bit into it, he sneakily looked around to find where her kwami could be hiding. He ran his hands over the items on the desk absently, chuckling a little at the framed photo of himself, and accidentally knocked Marinette’s computer mouse to the side.

Her monitor came out of sleep mode and, popping the rest of the cookie in his mouth, he looked up curiously…

…to find a collage of his various modelling pictures as her wallpaper. Over a pink background. With pink hearts doodled all over it.

He gasped involuntarily and felt the cookie go down the wrong pipe. He promptly choked and started hacking out bits of cookie all over Marinette’s stuff.

Ladybug had a collage of himself as a wallpaper on her computer!

And he just hacked chewed cookie bits on it!

“Chat!” Marinette cried in an admonishing tone as she rushed over to thump him on his back. He painfully hacked away the cookie in his throat with the help of her thumping. “What are you even doing?” She left his side for a bit and poured some milk in a glass and handed it to him.

“Sorry,” he croaked, accepting the glass gratefully, all the while avoiding her gaze. In just how many more ways could he make a fool of himself today?

He honestly couldn’t tell if this day was going incredibly well or irredeemably awful. He learned some pretty amazing things, but he’d also caused quite a bit of trouble. And he’d barely even been here an hour. His brain was still not functioning properly and he was starting to think that it was a terrible idea to come see Marinette before he’d properly assessed the situation.

He watched Marinette fuss over her belongings gingerly with a tissue as he drank his milk in guilty silence. She turned to the computer monitor and (cutely) wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You just coughed chewed cookie chunks all over Adrien,” she said, frowning as she wiped.

Then under her breath, with a voice so soft he barely heard it even with his enhanced hearing, she added, “Now I can never kiss it again.”

He choked again and spat milk all over her.

“CHAT!”

“Sorry!”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #marichat #adrienette #MARICHAT MAY #chat noir being a problem #next up: some revelations and chat not messing anything up at all promise #he's a cool cat after all #BTW THIS IS LONG LIKE 3K WORDS #SORRY #ENJOY THE FLU F f AND AWKWARDNESS #CNFO #lai writes

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