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shyvioletcat · 9 months

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ROWAELIN MONTH: DAY 10

~ Co-host/Guest Star with Chemistry ~

You might remember this fic from last year. Well, I had plans to make it a one off thing but then I couldn't help it and I got another idea. And I just want to say thank you to everyone who read the first part and loved it. It's so fun when you guys love something as much as I do. Without further delay, please enjoy Part 2 who we really and truly have to thank Rowaelin month and @rowaelinscourt for.

~~~~~

All Aelin could do was stare at her own reflection in the mirror of her dressing room vanity. She didn’t have long before she had to leave her sanctuary and face a crowd of strangers like her entire world hadn’t been rocked at its foundations. Acting was a talent she’d taken to at a very young age, the tales of her dramatics often told around the dinner table. Aelin would be fine, she’d put on one of her charismatic smiles and give her audience her all, and everything would be fine. But for now, it was only her stunned expression to keep her company.

That was how Rowan found her however long later, silent and still as her mind was whirring with thoughts of the future. Aelin had lost track of the minutes spent doing absolutely nothing, and as Rowan appeared in the mirror she startled, a hand flying to her chest as if to stop her heart from flying out of her chest.

“Holy gods, you scared me,” she breathed as Rowan removed his cap and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, love,” Rowan murmured onto her skin as he kissed her again. When he noticed she still hadn’t moved, not in the slightest, to look at him or seek out another kiss his voice changed from teasing to concern. “Are you all right?”

Aelin finally found the compulsion to move, swivelling in her makeup chair to face Rowan. It was always infinitely more pleasant when he could come to the studio without the threat of being in front of the camera. Not as exciting for her, but she was still happy to see him. When he came to visit her here Rowan had to sneak in and from the sheer amount of times he’d done he’d developed quite the skill for it. The tricky part was not drawing attention, and with years of practice he had the art of blending in down to a fine art.

The key was appearing so much unlike his professional self that it would take more than a double take to place why he looked so familiar. So today with his scruffy hat hair, hoodie and stubble covered cheeks, he was a far cry from the suave and composed image he gave the camera.

Since Rowan’s last public performance here he’d been promoting his new album and gone on tour. Over the past eight months Aelin had hardly seen him except via a phone screen. The last time they had managed to see each other in person was when he had shows in Suria and snuck away when he should have been sleeping in to come see her. That was about six weeks ago.

“We have a situation,” Aelin had said, looking up at him and jerking her head towards the vanity. “And I think we have this room and that couch to blame.”

Rowan’s brows furrowed then looked to where she had directed. His eyes went wide and he did a few double takes before his gaze finally settled on her. There was an open question in his eyes and Aelin just nodded. Then he let out a shaky laugh as he realised fully what this all meant, a hand rubbing his stubbled chin.

“Well, I guess this changes things,” Rowan finally said.

“Indeed it does,” Aelin confirmed. “We need a plan, and I think I have one.”

THREE AND A HALF MONTHS LATER…

Aelin always got butterflies waiting behind the curtain for the final call of action. The crowd was still humming with chatter and she could hear the last camera checks over her in-ear monitor. This time the butterflies were worse, enough to make her nauseous. Today’s show would be one to be remembered and it had taken a good amount of deceit and scheming to get here.

“Alright, Aelin,” a voice said into her ear. “Curtains open in five, four, three…”

Aelin took in a deep breath, the last two counts sounding in her head. Two, One.

The applause started and then the curtains opened, Aelin taking the ten steps forward to get to her mark. She smiled and waved while she made eye contact with a few people seated in the audience. There were cheers and whistles, and when it went on a little too long Aelin held up her hands to start quieting them down as the prompt screen undoubtedly displayed QUIET PLEASE. Once the audience had settled Aelin began her welcoming monologue.

“Thank you so much,” she said, her smile stretching wide, and there were cheers again. “Now, now, as much as I would love to stand here and lap up every bit of your admiration, I don't get paid for that.” There was a healthy amount of laughter. “I get paid to put on a show and what a show do we have planned for today. They’re always special, what am I talking about? It reminds of something my father used to say, slightly inappropriate but I think—”

The strum of a guitar interrupted her and Aelin made sure she looked affronted even though she knew exactly what was going on. When the the chord turned into music she sent a confused look to the audience a millisecond before they broke out in raucous cheers. Aelin whirled around to see Rowan strutting out, centrestage from where she had been standing moments before with the smallest of smug smiles on his face. He was looking down at his guitar and Aelin put her hands on her hips to show her displeasure. Rowan had the gall to wink at her. If he wasn’t careful he’d give the whole gig away.

Even though it wasn’t his job, it was Fenrys who darted out from the wings and dropped a mic and stand in front of Rowan, and then he was gone again. It became a stand off, Rowan playing while he challenged her with a look that told her to get off his stage, even though it was her stage.

He had to win for the whole ploy to work, so Aelin gave an overexaggerated and exasperated sigh, her hands falling to her sides as half turned to the audience as she said, “I guess I know when I’m not needed.”

It was hard, but Aelin withheld her own smile as she gave Rowan the limelight. He hadn’t stopped playing, the chords effortlessly coming from the instrument and he never missed a beat. Aelin found a spot by the foot of the low steps near her interview platform, right beside Fenrys who had decided not to head out of sight. He nudged her with his elbow and winked. Aelin tried not to look too pleased with herself.

The tempo picked up and Rowan readied himself in front of the microphone. Aelin’s breath caught in her chest, it always did in the anticipation of the song beginning. It always happened when Rowan was about to sing. He closed his eyes, grounding himself to the melody and then his deep voice filled the studio.

I found a love, for me

Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead

Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet

“Sweet?” Fenrys muttered under his breath.

Aelin tried very hard not to snort and ruin Rowan’s performance. “Artistic licence. Now hush”

'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love

Not knowing what it was.

They might not have been kids but they were young and stupid enough to mistake their mutual animosity for other feelings that were way at the other end of the spectrum. When they had admitted to their true feelings it was like Aelin’s entire world had fallen into place. Rowan was everything she wanted and she had just been too willfully ignorant to see. Thank the gods they had come to their senses. Eventually.

I will not give you up this time

But darling, just kiss me slow

Your heart is all I own

And in your eyes, you're holding mine

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark

With you between my arms

Barefoot on the grass

Listening to our favourite song

When you said you looked a mess

I whispered underneath my breath

But you heard it

Darling, you look perfect tonight

Aelin remembered that night, Rowan had surprised her after she’d been deep cleaning her house all day. It was the first time that Rowan had seen her so dishevelled. Her cheeks had burned, he didn’t notice, just sweeping into her kitchen to make dinner. They had sat outside, eating on a blanket, and after Rowan had pulled her to her feet to dance under the night’s sky, the cooling grass beneath their feet.

The backing curtain rose, revealing a small band to accompany Rowan and his guitar playing. The music swelled to new heights and Aelin was reminded of just how much she loved this song.

Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know

She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home

I found a lover, to carry more than just my secrets

To carry love, to carry children of our own

Unconsciously Aelin’s hand drifted to her stomach. It was an unconscious gesture, but how could she not when he was singing about that.

We are still kids, but we're so in love

Fighting against all odds

I know we'll be alright this time

Darling, just hold my hand

Be my girl, I'll be your man

I see my future in your eyes

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark

With you between my arms

Barefoot on the grass

Listening to our favourite song

When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful

I don't deserve this

Darling, you look perfect tonight

When the instrumental bridge began Rowan stopped playing, letting the backing band have their moment. Confused, Aelin sent him a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. He just pulled his guitar over his head, walked over and handed it over to Fenrys. Before Aelin could even ask aloud about whatever was going on right now Rowan had taken her hand and spun her into a dance. Fenrys’ laugh was audible and she knew they must have looked quite the sight. It was hard not to melt into his embrace, which came to her so naturally in this moment. They were still on camera, and they had images to maintain. Her the larger than life social star, he the cold and callous musician, although with this break in character Rowan’s was very quickly unravelling. Aelin knew this song by heart, he’d played it for her enough, so she knew when he had danced too long for that standard interlude, but the band covered him.

He did dance her back over to her spot by the stage before it was too obvious that he was stalling and took his guitar back. Rowan was effortlessly able to join back in, his voice impassioned as he started the final rendition of the chorus.

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark

With you between my arms

Barefoot on the grass

Listening to our favourite song

I have faith in what I see

Now I know I have met an angel in person

And she looks perfect

I don't deserve this

By the gods he did. With everything that he had been through and what he had given to Aelin without question, he deserved every bit of happiness they had together. As her thoughts ran off the music slowed, Rowan closing out the song, strumming the last few chords himself and ending it on a truly acoustic note.

You look perfect tonight

The applause was deafening, and Aelin joined in. Like he always did, Rowan went a little shy when accepting the adoration being rained down on him. His cheeks went a delectable shade of pink and he nodded at the crowd who just kept clapping. Aelin gave Fenrys a jab in the arm to get him moving off camera and out of the way. Knowing the camera was now on her, Aelin put on her signature teasing smirk, clapping as Rowan approached. Gods damn him, but he held out his hand like the gentleman to help her up the miniscule steps. His back was to the camera, convenient as he scowled at the towering heels she’d chosen to wear today. He would say they were a safety concern, Aelin was adamant they made her outfit.

They sat in the arms chairs, sinking into the plush cushions. Their eyes were on each other while they waited for the commotion to die down enough for the interview to start. Rowan must have made quite the impression because it took the QUIET PLEASE flashing longer than usual for the audience to follow the instruction. When they finally did Aelin grinned.

“How dare you interrupt my monologue,” she said.

Rowan had assumed his cool and aloof demeanour, and he just shrugged. “That song was more heartfelt than any spiel you were about to give.”

Aelin gasped. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

In fact, she’d woken him up with soft kisses that had led to more, and he’d left bed in the best mood possible.

“Now that song,” Aelin said, drawing out each word. “It’s a love song, and from those beautifully written, heartfelt words, it feels like it might have been written about someone special.”

“If you have a question, Aelin, just ask it,” Rowan challenged.

She lent forward, the thrill of the game exciting her. “I have many questions. First, what can you tell me about this,” Aelin waved her hand flippantly over her shoulder, where she knew a photo from Rowan’s Instagram was being shown. “I showed this post a few months ago and I can tell you there were more than a few broken hearts in this studio.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the audience. Aelin shot a glance at the picture, admiring the large emerald set in a gold band. Rowan couldn’t have done better in picking the perfect engagement ring for her, Aelin had hated that she hadn’t been able to wear it and to show it off. The only public admittance of their relationship was this photo and because it only showed Aelin’s hand she had remained anonymous. There was just the widespread devastation that Rowan Whitethorn was officially off the market, the media sent into a tizzy because no one knew who his mystery woman was. It cost them both an exorbitant amount in NDAs but somehow they had managed to keep it all out of the public eye.

“My favourite comment is this one: WTF But you and Aelin! I shipped the two of you so hard. You’ve broken my heart,” Aelin read. “How could you break their heart like that, Rowan? Have you no compassion?”

“I don’t know how people can see the way we interact and imagine us together,” Rowan said.

“Shipping is the word you’re looking for,” Aelin explained. “You may be too old to be down with the lingo, unfortunately.”

Rowan scoffed, selling his arrogance. “I could say the same about you, I doubt kids today know what the word lingo means.”

“At least I’m not as old as you,” Aelin threw in a little bite to her words to make her anger believable. “I have that going for me amongst all my other admirable and desirable qualities.”

“If you say so.” She saw Rowan fighting his smile but he kept his composure in the end. “You just like anything that draws attention to you. Never mind how ridiculous and unfounded that attention might be.”

“I see falling in love hasn’t done any favours to you manners,” Aelin teased.

“Maybe it’s just you, Aelin. You seem to make it your mission to make me as nasty as I can be." Rowan sounded both impatient and offended, a practised tone for him.

“What can I say, I love to ruffle your feathers. And It’s not my fault they’re so easily ruffled,” Aelin countered. “But I should at least offer my congratulations. An engagement is one thing but I’m more interested in what comes after.”

A video played on the large screen behind the two of them, the song Rowan had just sung playing again in lower quality with just him and his guitar. Aelin watched the grainy video footage, seeing him dressed in dark pants with the buttons of is white shirt rolled to his elbows, the rest of his features were blurred by the terrible quality of the camera work. His stand out feature was his voice as he sang to an unknown figure. The heads of the guests obscured the view of who that was, the only thing that was seen of her was her hands dancing above her head for a few moments. Fenrys had done a wonderful job purposefully terrible camera work.

There were some murmurs from the audience as they put together the other pieces of information the video showed them. It was more than clear what this delightful snippet was from, but Aelin began the dance anyway.

“That looks like you’re at a wedding,” she said.

“My own, in fact,” Rowan confirmed. There were a few cheers at that, the news wasn’t new. It had been hard won but they had managed to fully control what information had gone out about the special event. “You should know, you were there.”

This time there were a few surprised gasps and muttering of what. The animosity between Aelin and Rowan was notorious, and although some tabloids tried to put a flirtatious spin on it it never seemed to stick. Their feuding held more entertainment and money.

“I wasn’t invited directly, I came as a plus one for a very important guest.” Aelin lent back in her chair, consciously keeping her hands on the arms of it. “It was a magical affair and a wonderful night. I must say though, I think you could have done better. You’re worth millions after all.”

Rowan’s eyebrows rose with indignant surprise. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, the venue for starters,” Aelin said. “It felt like a prison inside, all those high walls and artificial lighting. Why were we punished for your success?”

“I’m a private man, as you well know. There’s certain things I can’t compromise on to maintain it.”

“And the colour scheme,” she made a disgusted sound. “So basic. Green and gold? Sounds like the colour scheme for a sports team.”

There was a chuckle from Rowan at that. “I didn’t know you paid attention to such things.”

“You’d be surprised at what I pay attention to,” Aelin said with a flirtatious wink. “That dress. Stunning. Couldn’t have chosen a more stunning piece of art.”

“At least you have one positive thing to say,” even though he sounded completely unimpressed. “She was stunning as ever, even though wedding planning did make her kind of a diva.”

Aelin lent a hand on her chin, a smile quirking up the side of her mouth even though she wanted to insist the contrary. “Pity about that, though I’d say your temperaments match. Or more likely she realised it was your sorry ass that she was marrying and didn’t want you to face the embarrassment of being left at the altar. I think you should thank her for that kindness.”

“Anything else that didn’t meet your expectations, your Highness?” Rowan made sure to add an edge of mocking to his voice, but Aelin could see the mirth dancing in his eyes.

Aelin tapped her chin, sending a conspiring look to the audience as they sat on the edge of their seats waiting for her next biting quip. “The wine, I would have chosen better.” That held some truth, because Aelin hadn't exactly participated in the trying before buying.

“You didn’t even drink any,” Rowan said, almost ruining everything by laughing. They would need to wrap this up quickly before he gave them away completely. This man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

“That,” she drew the word out as a warning, “was because I heard it was so terrible I didn’t even bother with it. Now let’s get back to your lovely little song.”

“If you’d like,” Rowan added callously.

In return Aelin sent him a wry smile. “I understand it was for your wife. A serenade for her on your wedding day.”

Rowan just nodded. There was a call of but who is she from the audience. Host and guest both pointedly ignored it.

“The lyrics are beautiful, and obviously come from the heart. She must be a very lucky woman to have your devotion.” Then Aelin turned towards the audience. “Who knew Rowan Whitethorn could be such a softy, even his vows had me in tears.”

There was no word of a lie there. As Rowan had declared his love to her, and promised to honour and care for them as long as he lived, Aelin couldn’t keep back the tears. Her father had to pass her his pocket square so she could dab the tears away without ruining her makeup.

“Over all, it was quite the party,” Aelin said.

Rowan snuck her a secret smile. “It was.”

“I’d say the party really started once the bride and groom left,” Aelin mused.

“Did it just?” Rowan said in that dry way of his.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, trying not to remember too vividly how they had gone back to their room and really celebrated lest she blush on camera. “Your presence has that kind of impact.”

Rowan had to look down to hide most of his smile as he shook his head at her antics. It really was time to wrap it up before he lost all restraint and just blurted everything out because Aelin teased too hard and he bit too quickly.

“Where is your shiny new wedding ring anyway? It just about blinded me at the reception,” Aelin said.

This was the predetermined phrase that would uncover them at last. For nearly two years Aelin and Rowan had managed to keep their relationship private and out of the public eye. They were about to undo all their hard work, but it was about time and most definitely worth it. Bringing their relationship to light would save them from all the speculation and rumours that continuously surrounded them. Not completely, there would always be gossip of cheating and the like, but it would be nice not to hide anymore.

Rowan shifted so that he could reach into his back pocket and then showed off his ring, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “I took it off to play, didn’t want it getting in the way.”

Even though they had no idea what they were anticipating, the audience seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Rowan slipped his ring onto his finger then looked right at Aelin.

“I’ve got yours, too,” Rowan said, this time reaching into the pocket over his heart. There was tittering from the audience, Aelin struggled to keep her face neutral. “I found them on the bathroom counter, I thought you might want them.”

The was a singular, very high pitched WHAT from someone in the audience. Rowan held out his hand to her, palm up with the emerald on full display.

Biting her bottom lip to stop her grin was futile and Aelin only had eyes for Rowan as she said, “Thank you, but I’d left them there on purpose.”

Rowan was grinning too, his eyes darting down to her stomach. “Why?”

“Well, I couldn’t get them on,” Aelin said casually, risking a glance at her audience who looked like they were ready to explode. “My fingers were too swollen. Tends to happen when you’re pregnant.”

Absolutely pandemonium broke out. Aelin stood, watching as the audience collectively lost their mind and smoothed her hands over her dress, showing off the small bump she had hidden beneath. Everyone was on their feet, cheering and clapping, there were whistles and a few screams. She smiled, caressing her bump affectionately again. It had been difficult but they had managed to keep the pregnancy out of public knowledge. A few of the tabloids had run stories about her looking pregnant but when nothing came of it, they just gave up. Aelin had faced pregnancy allegations every other week for years, this time it wasn’t a lie. She was just too good at keeping secrets. A baby had been a surprise, to say the least, but not at all an unwelcome one. The wardrobe department had a hard time dressing her lately in an attempt to hide the pregnancy and to keep her comfortable. Even more NDAs were handed out over it.

And then Rowan stood too, off script. He swept an arm around her waist and she went willingly into his embrace. Rowan tucked her hair behind her ear and gave her a sweet smile, the kind that was just for her, his eye crinkling in the corner. When he kissed her Aelin let him, returning it fervently. It was probably too amorous for day time television but Aelin couldn’t find it in herself to care—not when Rowan whispered I love you and looked at her like that.

Once the chaos died down Rowan had been sent off and Aelin had to focus on her real job, Getting through the rest of the show had been a feat. As soon as Rowan had left the stage Aelin pretended like nothing had happened. The next segment had been promoting various popular books, followed by video chatting a school telling them her studio was providing them with iPads. All in all, it was a fantastic show, but now that it was over she was free to return to her dressing room.

Rowan was waiting for her, arm draped over the back of the couch and looking far too good. Aelin tried not to slam the door but her excitement got the better of her. Kicking off her heels she wasted no more time before climbing into Rowan’s lap, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him. His hands went to her waist, his thumbs brushing over her sides.

When they finally broke apart Rowan said, “You could have let up a little.”

“I’m still mad about it being a shotgun wedding,” Aelin pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know if it was the hormones or purely the lyrics but I had to blink back the tears.”

“How is that my fault? You’ve heard that song a hundred times.” Rowan was giving her a look that only insisted that part was not his fault.

Aelin ignored it completely. “And you almost gave it away so many times, like when you told the world I wasn’t drinking.”

Rowan's deep chuckle rumbled through his chest and he urged her closer. “We were heading in a wedding direction anyway. We just needed a little bit of a push. You can’t blame me for getting a little excited over telling everyone.”

His hand rested over her stomach, right over the tiny thing that had given them much more than a little push. Finding out that they were pregnant had accelerated all the plans they had for their future. They didn’t see the point in waiting to get engaged or prolonging the time between that and a wedding. They had chosen each other, and like their vows had said, they were in this together until whatever end. Still, the joke of the shotgun wedding was too funny to let go of, and there had also been the fact she hadn’t been able to wear her engagement ring outside the house. It was beautiful and deserved to be shown off.

The feeling of Rowan’s lips making their way up her neck drew her back to the present. “I worked it out.”

“Worked what out?” Rowan asked but wasn’t deterred by her shift in topic and kissed her jaw.

“That we most likely conceived on this very couch,” Aelin explained. “You were busy with your tour and I checked the dates and you were only in town for those few days.”

Rowan stopped kissing her to laugh. “Is this a lucky couch then?”

“Hmm, I dunno,” Aelin said, her hand slipping into his hair tugging it just the way he liked. “I certainly like to get lucky on it.”

Rowan groaned, leaning in so that scrape his teeth over the sensitive skin of her neck. “Did you lock the door?”

The words were whispered onto her skin and made Aelin shiver. All resolve lost, she melted against Rowan, sighing as his hands wandered over her body. Gods, she needed him, her blood still thrumming from all the excitement of the interview. And she could feel how much Rowan needed her, a teasing roll of her hips only intensifying the situation.

“There’s no need,” Aelin said and Rowan pulled back enough to see his face. “To quote our dear friend Fenrys, after all that foreplay no one would even risk disturbing us right now.”

Rowan’s grin was near feral. “No more wasted time then.”

They both moved, meeting in the middle for a kiss that set every fire within them blazing. The couch it seemed, would prove to be more than useful yet again. And like Aelin had said, lessons had been learned and no one interrupted them… this time.

~~~~~

Hope you like that one! I know I certainly did

#rowelin month #rowaelin month 2023 #dressing room drama

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sitp-recs · 1 year

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Hey you know how sometimes Charlie is used is a minor ship/past lover or just character in Drarry stories? Do you know anything involing Bill in that way? I'm rereading that old black magic and i love Bill😍🫠 also this is the sexy, long haired cool man Harry had his first crush on🤭

Hi anon! That’s such a cool ask - I love Bill (and jealous Draco hehe) in TOBM and I definitely think we could have more Bill appreciation in the same way we have Charlie as Harry’s gay awakening👌🏼 I wonder if maybe people ship/respect FleurBill too much to go there? I for one headcanon him as the bisexual icon he is and would love to see that explored in Drarry fics!

Unfortunately I don’t know of any fics where he’s a past fling but if you’re interested, here are some recs feat. Bill in mlm relationships. I’m saving this rec list on the rare pairs masterpost under “Bill Weasley appreciation”!

Harry/Bill:

Kinkuary 2023 ch 15 by iota (E)

Be Mine by @wynnefic (T, 2k)

According to the goblins, Bill's just met his soul mate. He just wishes he had something more than only the memory of a voice to find his soul mate with.

Black Stone Path by @wynnefic (T, 2.5k)

“What's happening?" Harry asked, coming to a stop next to him. He hadn't seen that look on Ron's face since the war, when Ron wore it almost constantly. Harry was reluctant to do the same. Five years since the end of the war, he'd learned to become comfortable with peace. And because there was nothing else that got the Weasley family in such a panic, he added, "Who's hurt?" Ron swallowed, turning his head to look Harry's way. "It's Bill." Fuck, Harry thought, and that was about all that he could think. Words were useless, always had been.

Safe by maraudersaffair (E, 4k)

Harry loves spending time at the Burrow because he feels safe. When Bill divorces Fleur and starts hanging around as well, Harry can't stop thinking about them getting together.

Hold Me Tight (Just For Tonight), orphaned (E, 5k) - Bill/Fleur + Harry

Harry has been suffering increasingly from nightmares, waking up in odd locations without remembering how she'd gotten there. Fate brings her to Shell Cottage where Fleur offers an unconventional solution after a night free from nightmares. But sharing a bed comes with its own problems, as Bill will tell you.

Conversations with a Friend by SilentAuror (M, 6k)

Harry's winter has taken a turn for the melancholy. Since defeating Voldemort the previous summer, all he has left to battle are more personal concerns, at least until an unexpected friend happens along.

Dragon's Ink by Leela (E, 9k) - Harry/Bill, Draco/Charlie

One evening, just before closing, a hooded and cloaked man enters Charlie's studio. Draco Malfoy wants a tattoo. The only problem is that he already has one.

Draco/Bill:

Summer at the Burrow by academicdisaster (E, 1k) - Drarry, Draco/Sirius, Draco/Bill

Bill is controlling and hot, Sirius is passionate and hot, and Draco is just hot. Literally. This room is stifling.

A Room with a View in the Flowering City by @wolfpants (E, 1k)

When Draco materialised in Bill’s Cairo office last month, he’d been pink-faced and irritated, the collar of his linen shirt damp with sweat.

slide by @onbeinganangel (E, 1.5k)

SummBill Weasley, who insists on approaching Draco every time, no matter where, on fetching him drinks, on flirting relentlessly, on touching him softly with rough, big hands that leave Draco’s skin prickling. Bill Weasley, with that fang earring dangling enticingly off his ear, moving ever so slightly as he speaks, with his hair pulled up into a messy ponytail Draco desperately wants to pull on.

Drarry + Bill:

Sanctuary by Lokifan (E, 4k)

When Harry goes to them, he isn’t running away from the bleak, lonely parts of life any more. He’s running towards something better.

Teddy/Bill 😈

Tradition, Upheld by Snegurochka (E, 6k)

Over too much beer the next two nights, Charlie told Bill more than he'd ever wanted to know about this particular holdover of Roman Wizarding tradition. Years later, when he was forty-five years old, the way the kid across the table from him was looking at him made Bill want to do every filthy thing Charlie had told him about all those years ago.

like the lost lyrics of a song suddenly remembered by @lqtraintracks (E, 11k) - Bill/Teddy, James/Teddy

Teddy Lupin, aging rockstar, is making a comeback after his life and career were nearly ruined by an illegal potions habit. Everyone's out to support him tonight. Including the man he's always tried so hard not to love -- as well as the man he's always turned to instead.

The Werewolf Handbook, Page 147 by Snegurochka (E, 20k)

Everyone knows that when a person with any werewolf blood reaches 21, untamed sexual urges will manifest themselves and require an outlet. It's a fact. No question about it. The Werewolf Handbook says so, right there on page 147.

#asks #anon #hp rare pairs #bill weasley appreciation

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recapcrew · 1 year

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Week 42 Transcript

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Intro

Extra extra, read all about it! Welcome to the Empire’s Recap, and today we will be going over the chaos and drama of our (somewhat) respected rulers!

Lizzie

Taking over the world is an ambitious goal for Mayor Lizzie, but an opportunity has shown itself that will provide an excellent path for expansion. King Scott’s rule asks for a representative build in Chromia, and if she can get him to sign away part of his land for this project, the expansion can begin.

Scott does sign off on it, so now the problem is exactly what to build. It may be only one chunk wide, but she gets from bedrock to build height - Animalia is going vertical. That doesn’t mean it’ll be ugly though, of course not! She doesn’t want any reason for the King to be digging deeper. She decorates the tower with signature Animalia style with each level signifying another animalian district.

To make this truly a one-chunk city for her citizens the place must be functional! She adds rooftop farmland and some bees before going inside and decorating every floor –

[LIZZIE] We have the kitchen here, where all of the food for the villagers is cooked, and then they sleep obviously, don’t look at the human ones, they’re not real.

[NARRATOR] All of her different villagers are going to need space to live! Now the land is hers, she’s not just going to use it for some villagers - Scott made the mistake of showing her Chromia’s geothermal crystals, so this seems like the perfect place to build a lava farm!

Gathering the initial lava is quite resource heavy on the buckets, but luckily her froggy villagers will sell her buckets of cod en masse… You just have to make sure not to tell them what she did with the cod.

[LIZZIE] Uh oh. Oh no.

[MANY FISH JUMPING AND DYING]

[LIZZIE] It’s a sad day for the cod community. There! I collected all the lava and nobody had to die! Except for all the cod…

Scott

[NARRATOR] The new ruler of the server Scott Smajor spends some time setting out borders in his empires for his fellow rulers. Remembering back to last week, those plots are for the king’s rule - that every emperor must have an embassy or similar built in Chromia.

Mayor Lizzie stops by to have Scott sign off on a contract handing over the parcel of land to Animalia. She’s trustworthy… well, more trustworthy than some people.

A few days later reveals a large number of builds have risen in Chromia. It’s mildly surprising that so many have followed the rules!

Tumble Town leaves a TNT wagon which is not a safety risk at all - thank god Chromia doesn’t have OSHA though.

The previous ruler Pix leaves a froglight tree, dropping froglights across Chromia. It’s probably one of the only builds that actually fits in with the aesthetic.

The olipelagan empire leaves an interesting statue with a musical surprise!

The Gobland contribution has something against people, or possibly just movement in general given that it looks amazing but screams whenever you get too close.

Animalia has just made a mini city in Chromia, truly making herself at home. Several animalian villagers have moved into the new build already - Scott might have to start making them pay Taxes.

Stratos’s contribution is very typical of Joel, but perhaps less representative of Stratos as a whole. He does like his own face too much.

Sanctuary has provided a dance studio, complete with music and a pole, which is all very fitting for Sanctuary.

Katherine, Gem and Joey are the final rulers left to make their mark. Shelby has claimed an area with intent even if she hasn’t yet built anything, and False gets a pass as she probably doesn’t even know the Crown exists.

He may now have a collection of builds from the other emperors, but he still wants to fill up his collection rooms. He shuffles through his chests and brings out a series of items he’s collected throughout time.

He hangs them all in the collection room, including the crown, and which may not be the smartest of ideas given that the room doesn’t even have glass in its windows.

Turning his attention to some odd creatures, his mysterious book instructs him on how to collect some rare creatures. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Scott takes on the task of finding a mooshroom.

Seven thousand blocks later, and Scott gets the mooshroom struck with lightning in the right place. Hopefully the reward is worth the struggle!

A few surprises are back in Chromia for him, but not from the mysterious creatures - it’s Gem’s build, a very modest little house, and the fact The Crown. Is Gone.

Pix

[PIX] Being a ghost is, surprisingly, not so bad.

[NARRATOR] Being a ghost isn't the most concerning result of the tea party for Pixlriffs - it's the tools he lost while everyone was trying to solve his murder. And he'll need new tools to bring a piece of the Ancient Capitol to Chromia, as commanded by King Scott. In the meantime, though, he might as well get a little haunting in.

[PIX] oooOOooOo you will be visited by the spirits of three episodes!

[OLI] Ohhhh! No, that--it’s too late for that now, its too late.

[NARRATOR] Oli knows that even dead, Pix is still handy with redstone, and also happy to help with the musical gift the bard is bringing the new King. His missing things included his enderchest, unfortunately, and there does not seem to be a single one in all of Chromia - not even in Pearl's home! Though she did have a slightly more solid version of Pix's head.

Pix helps Oli work out an off switch for the music box and re-enacts his own death with Fwhip's help for a break. By the time he sets out to find his own plot, however, the off switch is still on, so he claims the furthest spot away from the noise before heading back to retooling himself.

After falling in lava and losing everything - again - Pix has to head back to the End for another elytra and runs into something very strange.

[PIX] –I found one that hadn’t been. But as I was pillaring up to that end city ship, I found this! And I have no idea what this is, and this was just out here 4,000 blocks out in the end, and I have zero idea what its doing here!

[NARRATOR] The beehive is hollow and holds no answers. And very few bees at this point.

Befuddled, Pixlriffs gears up to head back into the Nether to retrieve any tools that didn't burn in the lava - with a fire resist potion this time. This involves rockets, so he tops up at Gem's raid farm, because at this point there's so many places to get gunpowder on the server that it wouldn't matter if Jimmy never restocked.

He flies back to the burning nook, and it seems the Crown's curse is finally lifted - his elytra didn't actually burn! One less thing to grind re-enchanting.

Tools in hand, Pix heads back to Chromia, and finds Jimmy's wagon build in the spot he'd selected - the sheriff's real first act of villainy. Undeterred, Pix picks another place to plant a genuine froglight tree, complete with a few surprises around the roots. He also stays in the local inn, and makes use of the suggestion box.

[PIX] –few suggestions in here already. I’m gonna say, “More enderchests, fewer creepers”.

[NARRATOR] Finally returning to the capitol, Pix pulls up more ghosts of the past in the form of schematics, though they don't stay as incorporeal as him for long.

The gatehouse towers are indicative of the kind of environmental storytelling Pixlriffs is going for, scorched by fireballs from a long-ago siege. There's even a few remaining guard towers for the parkour-intended to find their way into, though any rewards within are long since lost or looted.

He also takes the time to point out how dark things actually are when you're not making a Youtube video - in moody lighting, the towers take on a foreboding, deep shadow. Unfortunately, it also makes the catacombs practically impossible for viewers to see in, so Pix is keeping the lighting bright for now. A considerate spirit, he is.

There's one more unfinished tower rising - the Sanctum, planned to become an apiary. Convenient, considering King Scott has fallen, and King Gem's first decree is bees for all.

Wonder if this ghost can see more than just the past - wait, wrong season!

Sausage

Into the past is exactly where Sausage has put his fight with his evil self. Things have calmed down in Sanctuary considerably since his evil self merged into one with him, and now Sausage has less to worry about. Which means, he can get on with some royal tasks!

King Scott has demanded each empire build something to represent them in Chromia. Sausage arrives to pick a plot and after grabbing materials from Bubbles, since Pepe is on holiday, he builds a dance studio! Sanctuary is known for its amazing dancing, so it seems fitting.

As soon as he's finished that however, the crown is plundered into the hands of Queen Geminitay! Her decree is for each empire to take a beehive and build it a home. Sausage picks his up, warning Gem ominously about the consequences of the crown.

He heads home, and builds his new bee an apiary, in his farming district. It's a beautiful mix of Sanctuary style framework and Dawn inspired windows. The interior is just as beautiful, decorated with hanging bushes and the national flower of Sanctuary, the sunflower. His bee, who's been named Crystal loves it so much!

Jimmy

Oh how the crown so quickly changed hands, so The Sheriff starts his week with two new rules from one King Scott and one Queen Gem.

King Scott decreed Jimmy build in Chromia with something representing Tumble Town. Our tiny Sheriff decided a TNT wagon would best fit the area he was given.

However, the crown was taken from Scott and placed on the head of Queen Gem meaning Jimmy needed to build something new. This time, a greenhouse for some bees the queen tasks her fellow emperors to take care of. This bright addition with adorable flowers to Tumble Town very much pleased the Queen when she visited.

After showing off his new bee sanctuary, Jimmy took his chances with Queen Gem to try and take the crown for his own. His yearning for the crown was not enough as he failed in his attempt to seize power. Instead, The Queen says she will inform Sausage of how Jimmy threatened not just a queen but THE queen.

When Queen Gem takes her leave from Tumble Town, Jimmy notices something new about the Fae area. The Fae has extended toward Tumble Town and added ‘Fae food’ to the menu. Another mysterious element concludes the week, a book from the Fae telling Jimmy they will soon have everything they need.

Gem

And we shall end today’s video with a bedtime story, I think. Here is the story of just how Gem became queen.

The story starts at spawn with Pix, a dodo, and a crown. He declares all his new subjects must provide something for his museum.

Gem does this happily, providing the banner of Dawn for his consideration. To get the crown she has to stay on the good side of the ruler who wears it.

Gem’s fellow princess Katherine comes over and the two make a plan together for a princess tea party - it’s a good excuse to get everyone into a dress.

The food provided from Dawn was lovely, but having all the emperors in the same place is a recipe for disaster.

The group plays hide and seek, but Pix ends up in a bit of trouble, losing his crown and also the ability to be solid.

[GEM] Then I killed Oli, not sure how that happened. And then the crown got passed on. And Pix also passed on, not sure how that went down.

[NARRATOR] The new ruler is Scott, and so to stay close to the crown she fulfils her duty to this ruler in the form of a beautiful Dawn embassy.

Innocently looking for Scott to show him around her new build, leads to a wing of the house seemingly dedicated to other people’s stuff. This, fortunately enough, includes the crown she’s been hoping for and if it’s not on the king’s head then surely, it’s free for the taking.

And that, listeners, is how Gem became queen. Her rule for the server is for them to take care of some bees she plans to provide everyone. Not only do the bees get to expand and be taken care of, it means she can have some of her people around the whole server.

Sausage visits the new queen and seems quite happy to follow the rule she imposes. Who needs a king when you have a queen! Or bees.

Sausage brings up a good point, the way things are going with this crown passing hands means somebody likely will be coming for it sooner or later. This queen doesn’t even have a castle, so Gem sets out to rectify that problem on a hill in Dawn inspired by her real-life home, Newfoundland.

All queens need a castle, and hopefully time does her well.

Outro

And with that, join us next week for more chaos and shenanigans! Thank you for watching, liking, and subscribing, and thanks to everyone helping with the project, check them all out below!

#empires recap #empires season 2 recap #transcript

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lorirwritesfanfic · 3 years

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Long Distance Love - Part 1: A Rehearsal

Author's note: This submission to day one of @rodappreciationweek is also part of the OTP asks I'm answering with stories. [Leading characters are owned by Pixelberry Studios and original characters are creations of this author]

Book: Ride or Die Characters: Logan, MC (Carla), Toby, Darius, Riya, Vaughn Pairing: Logan x MC (Carla) Rating: T Word count: 1088 Reading time: ~4 min Summary: A pastime activity Carla shares with Logan evokes feelings she has been keeping to herself. Based on the prompts: Ride or Die Appreciation Week: day one - Logan / OTP question meme #28: What do they do when they’re away from each other?

The rattle of keys echoes in the hallway as Carla hastily attempts to open the door to her room in Langston dorms. Though she has some free time to spare after lunch, she knows he doesn't. And nothing could get in the way of their plans for the day.

Once the door opens, she walks in, kicks off her shoes to the side and fishes her laptop from her messenger bag, putting it on her desk as she sits down. Her phone rings. Putting her earbuds on, she answers before the third ring.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late... Professor Caldwell left me in charge of his freshman class and they had a test today. There was this girl who took forever to finish her test and I swear I was about to snatch the paper and kick her out of the classroom," she explains opening her laptop and clicking on the videogame software.

His laughter reverberates in her ear, making her stomach flutter. Perhaps it's the many miles apart. Or maybe it's because she yearns to see him, his eyes closing slightly and lips curving upwards, softening his features as he throws his head back in amusement. Or both. Most likely, both.

"Don't be mean to freshmen, babe..."

"These kids have to learn how to make fast decisions at some point, Logan!" She insists. "I'm about to get in. Where are you?" She says clicking on the game icon.

"Meet me at Prontera Sanctuary."

"Okay." Once the game loads, her little female biochemist moves on the screen towards the pixelated building and stops before her boyfriend's tiny rogue character.

"Hey there, beautiful. Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi! You look nice. Going somewhere special?"

"I have a wedding to attend. Wanna be my date?"

"I'd love to."

"Cool. I have two gifts for you. You can't attend weddings without them."

"Oh?"

Through the game, Logan sends her an ivory princess and a diamond.

"How fancy! Do I put them on now or...?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll wear them automatically once the ceremony ends."

"Okay."

"Now let's talk to the NPC so we can start. By the way, we should hang up the phone and talk through Steam. We're going to have guests."

"Guests?"

She can almost see the smug grin on his face as he says. "You'll see."

Once they hang up, Carla connects her earbuds to the voice chat in the game platform and does as she's told. She then follows her boyfriend's character towards the altar of the sanctuary, where a NPC priest and a few other players are waiting nearby. Soon, four new players are added to their chat.

"Oh hey! The bride and groom are here!" Darius cheers.

"This is so exciting!" Toby cheers.

"Finally! The catering service here isn't that good," Vaugh jokes.

Five distinct laughs reach Carla's ears. "I can't believe you guys are here!"

"We couldn't miss your pixelated wedding day. Besides, I like it here. Everything is so cute and I get to kill stuff," Riya adds.

More laughter comes through the earbuds. Carla can't help but smile. She wasn’t expecting this, yet it feels so right.

"Are you ready, babe?" Logan asks.

"Yeah."

"Let's get married then."

Their characters approach the priest and the small ceremony starts.

"Dearly beloved, we're gathered here in the sight of the Gods and in the face of this company—" Toby says in a lower tone.

Logan and Carla chuckle.

"What are you doing, dude?" Darius inquires.

"Uh, I don't know... Everyone got really quiet all of a sudden..."

"That's because the ceremony is in text. Besides, you're not even saying what the priest says!"

"They're clicking too fast. It's hard to keep up..."

"Will you two shush? I'm trying to watch it here." Riya berates.

A few seconds later, church bells chime and Logan's and Carla's characters leave their usual class garments to wear a tuxedo and a wedding dress.

"Yay! Congrats you two!" Darius praises.

"Congrats! Now you can teleport to be close and save each other during fights and guild wars," Vaughn says.

"Which is basically what they do all the time. Minus the teleport part, of course," Riya comments.

"Still sounds like relationship goals to me," Toby reckons.

More laughter comes through the earbuds. As her friends said their farewells, a blissful feeling grows inside Carla. It may be just a game she plays with her boyfriend to pass the time when they're away from each other, but somehow that little fictional celebration brought up a wish she has been keeping to herself for a while.

Her phone rings again, this time for a video call. And as always, she picks it up immediately.

"Hey, wife," Logan says as he winks at her.

"Hey," she replies with a timid smile.

"Did you have fun at the wedding?"

"Yeah. It was so cute. And it was nice that you called the guys to join. I didn't know Darius and Riya played Ragnarok."

"Riya started today. She's loving the idea of becoming a thief."

Carla chuckles softly, supporting her chin on her elbow.

"I can see the wheels turning inside your head from here, you know..."

"Huh?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"It's nothing..."

Logan arches an eyebrow.

"It's a silly idea. You have to go now, don't you? We can talk about that once you arrive in Detroit."

"I always can make time to hear you out. Tell me what you’re thinking about."

"Okay..." Carla shifts on her seat. "I know this is just a game and we're not really married, but... It was really nice."

"Did you think about how it would be for real too?"

"I— Wait, did you think about it?" Her eyes go round in surprise.

"Of course I did. The marriage skills in the game are just a bonus."

"So this was like a wedding rehearsal."

"Yeah... The chibi version of us with teleportation powers."

Her cheeks heat as she giggles.

"Do you really think we can do it someday?"

"Yeah... Hopefully, after I graduate and get a job."

"So, two years?"

"Give or take."

His lips curl up in a secretive grin.

"Oh, I know that smile… What are you thinking about?"

"Just figuring out what regular jobs I could get until then..."

"You can be a house husband for all I care."

"I'm going to remind you of that in two years," he jokes.

"Just be at a real altar with me in two years. We'll figure out the rest later."

"Will do.” Logan beams. He then glances at the watch on his wrist and back at her. “I have to go now. I’ll call you when I arrive in Detroit."

"Okay. Be safe on the road."

"Always. Love you."

“Love you too.”

Once he disconnects, Carla sits back in the chair and sighs contently. In two years, a lot can happen. Still, she knows both of them will make sure nothing gets in their way.

#choices fanfic #ride or die fanfic #rodaw #rod logan #logan x mc #lorirwritesfanfic #lorircreates #otp asks

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lady-literature · 4 years

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for us to collide (part 4)

anyway who actually expected me to end this thing in 4 chapters lol

rip me ig

After the not-so-impromptu interrogation courtesy of her friends (because there was no way they hadn’t planned that, it was too coordinated) Robin doesn’t stop by for two weeks.

Which is… fine. Marinette is plenty busy anyways. The extra time she has free now that she isn’t entertaining a bratty vigilante, goes to more productive uses of her time. Like watching bad horror movies with her friends and jeering at the horrible acting and special effects.

(Red Hood stops by in the middle of watching Grizzly Rage and proceeds to rant for twenty minutes about ‘shitty, unrealistic blood splatters’. Marinette has long since passed the point of being worried about it.)

So, yeah. She doesn’t see Robin.

But Damian, oddly enough, seeks her out.

It’s early, and there isn’t anyone else in the studio right now which means Marinette has her music blasting and she’s humming along as she hand paints silk for Clara’s dress. It’s loud and she’s in her zone, so it’s only by Tikki warning her that she realizes someone entered her sanctuary.

Her eyebrows raise when she sees who it is.

“Uh, bonjour Damian," she greets confusedly, reaching over to lower the volume on her speakers. "I hadn’t expected to see you here. Is there something you need?”

He stops before her workstation, only slightly bigger than the ones the rest of her staff use due to the sheer amount of open commissions she normally has. She has an actual office on this floor, but Chloé uses it more than she does. Marinette likes the open space and being around her designers more than she likes the privacy.

His eyes catch on the two bouquets of flowers she’s yet to take home, neither of which have even begun to wilt—and likely won’t. (She’ll have to take them home soon before people start asking questions.)

“I was called here by Father, but he’s currently indisposed. I’ve been told to wait.”

She waits a moment for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, she asks, “So you came to visit me?”

“Yours is the only tolerable presence to be found.” His lips purse, and he crosses his arms. “And that includes that imbecile Drake who is no doubt still in his office like the pitiful insomniac he is.”

Her tongue is already halfway around a joke about excuses—she didn’t befriend Felix for nothing, okay? She knows how people like Damian work—when she realizes what he just said.

“Wait. Tim’s been here all night?”

Damian snorts. “He certainly didn’t return to the manor.”

She’s out of her seat in an instant, frowning and muttering up a storm as she rummages through the storage cubes pushed up against the far wall. She has a blanket, pillow and plain cotton shirt in her hands before Damian registers that she even moved.

“I’m going to kill your brother,” she says simply. “Would you like to come with?”

She’s gotten closer to Tim since working in Wayne Tower. He’s a notorious recluse and rarely leaves his office when he’s in the building, but Marinette makes it a point to visit him during lunch and before she leaves for the night.

He isn’t one of her Waynes, but he is a Wayne and her Waynes love and care for him so there’s not much of a difference really. She does like to think they might be something close to friends at this point though. And if the way Tim comes down to visit whenever he ventures out of his office means something, she might even be right.

Another thing that should be noted, is that Marinette is very much a ‘ride or die’ kind of person when it comes to the people she cares about. She will ruthlessly bully her loved ones into taking better care of themselves on threat of death because she is the semi-hypocritical mom friend and damn proud of it.

Damian looks her up and down, eyes lingering on the items in her hands and the determined set to her jaw and says, “Of course.” Then he’s plucking her things from her hands, offering her his arm and saying, “Shall we?”

Marinette laughs as she loops her arm with his. “We shall.”

***

She spends ten minutes scolding Tim before wrangling him onto the couch in his office and wrapping him up in the blanket so tightly he’d need to be an escape artist to get out of it. He tries to struggle anyway, but Marinette has too much practice at this and he doesn’t stand a chance in hell.

Damian stands at her shoulder and smirks the entire time, eyes dancing with amusement as she forces the CEO of Wayne Enterprises to take a fucking nap. Then, she’s treated to the sound of his surprised laughter as she begins switching out all of Tim’s regular coffee for magic-decaf—not that Damian knows it’s magic.

(By the devilish smirk playing at his lips, she’s starting to think that maybe Damian really is just as sadistic as Duke and Jason say he is.)

***

Damian starts dropping by more often after that (read: starts dropping by at all). Not that Marinette minds. She quite likes his company, actually.

He normally stops by first thing in the morning when Marinette is the only one in the workshop, walking in like he owns the place. For the first couple days, he asks about Ladybug and the rest of Paris’ Court, claiming that he’s curious about them.

She answers them, but only as far as she’d answer them for any reporter and is careful not to give away any sensitive information not known to the public. He gets a bit frustrated at one point, complaining that she must know more, but she stays stubbornly silent about it and, sometimes, steers the conversation deftly to the Great Bat and his Flock instead.

He eventually stops asking about the Parisian superheroes and instead their morning conversations turn to a thousand random things. Complaints and anecdotes and a silly back and forth between the two.

Marinette’s never been much of a morning person but having Damian there to keep her company is… nice.

She almost finds herself looking forward to mornings now.

***

When her Waynes learn that she’s started a food kitchen and makes a habit of spending her weekend there, they immediately insist on joining her, despite her protests.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” she says even though the three of them are already in their aprons and Cass is eyeing the boucher, Vivian, and her collection of knives with glittering interest.

Duke grins at her, “We know, M. But we want to.”

Jason finally turns back to her from where he’s been staring at the kitchen with something just shy of awe on his face. “You’re downright incredible, you know that?” he waves a hand out at the seating area, and then at the people in the kitchen assembling the healthiest and cost-efficient meals she and Felix could find after days spent researching. “I would’ve killed for something like this when I was on the streets.”

“It’s not just me who’s got this up and running-” she tries protesting but then Fiona, the woman Marinette actually put in charge of this place, is at her side and all but shoving the four of them into stations.

Marinette ends up by the pastries, like always, and she can see Jason making sandwiches. Duke's been roped into making eggs and bean casseroles and Cass, by some grace, actually ended up by Vivian and is having a blast cutting up all the meats as fast as she can.

They don’t stop until lunch, all four of them helping prepare meals for the upcoming week in bulk. After, they all go out for ice cream by the pier and Jason smears chocolate on her nose and Duke carries her around on his back when she complains about being tired.

Cass takes pictures of it all and later, Marinette gets them all printed out.

It ends up being a really good day.

***

The buzz from the charity gala and all the press regarding her and Damian’s non-existent relationship had calmed down weeks ago. There was still the odd article about Marinette being seen with her odd assortment of Waynes and the newspapers still called her ridiculous names when they got a picture, but it was about as close to normal as she gets.

The quiet lulled her into a false sense of security.

Ice Prince and Sweetheart Finally Seen on Date: Fairy Tale Romance or Publicity Stunt?

The ‘date’ in question was a coffee and lunch run for her designers and also Tim (because kwami knew he'd work through lunch if allowed).

Damian normally didn’t stay past Lilliane arriving in the morning (the poor dear was chronically late and always the last to arrive) but he hadn’t shown up until after she came that day and overcompensated by hours—which she hadn't minded. He kept to the fringes of her workspace and didn't distract her, instead focusing on his own thing. She wasn’t quite sure what he was up to, but she knew he was switching between his computer and sketchpad every so often.

(She's pretty sure he was hiding from Dick for some reason. He’s the only Wayne brother who doesn’t visit her at work, seeing as they have their bi-weekly gymnastic sessions; recently, with the addition of Mar’i, who still calls her ‘twin’ and whom Marinette still adores.)

And then lunch had rolled around, and it was Marinette’s turn to go out so she brought Damian with since he was still there.

They were out together for forty-five minutes. Tops.

“Why me?” she whines into the surface of her desk.

Damian, the asshole, just laughs at her and she can’t even be mad about it because he’s only just started laughing around her and not hiding behind so many of his walls. He laughs and Marinette knows it's precious so instead of shooting him the glower he deserves, she finds herself having to hide the smile slowly creeping on her face.

***

They’re splashed across the papers again less than a week later, only this time she has her Waynes there too.

Marinette's wearing her bright red sundress and she's somehow convinced Damian to wear a jacket with elaborate crowns and snowflakes embroidered up the sides. Because, as Chloé says: if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

They see the camera this time and the photo splashed across the page the next day is of Marinette laughing with Jason’s arm slung across her shoulders as both he and Damian flip off the camera. Meanwhile, Duke and Cass stand just far enough in frame to capture their expressions of pain and amusement respectively.

(Marinette makes a mental note to order apology gift baskets for the PR department.)

There are a lot of headlines the next day about Marinette’s ‘harem of Waynes’ and how she’s a ‘horrible influence on such bright children’. She spends about ten minutes trying to decide whether she should be horrified or laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it and eventually decides on both.

Adrien, the little shit, sees the headline and immediately prints it out to hang in her kitchen.

It reappears every time she tries to take it down.

***

Gotham does not smile upon daytime heroes.

Not to say that Gotham really smiles on anyone, but it’s especially vicious to those that think they’re owed anything. She’s heard the way Gothamites talk about Superman and The Flash—it’s not exactly what one would call adoring.

But Ladybug's been a daytime hero her entire career and it is not difficult to see that there's something distinctly different about the way daytime heroes and Gotham’s vigilantes operate.

Something more vicious, maybe; something more restrained.

Without the light of day and without the people’s eyes watching them at every moment, the Gotham Bats have become something else entirely.

Signal, their Daytime Protector, is especially strange.

A bat who's meta, straddling the line between day and night. The Day Patrol, trained by the night.

Sometimes, when she and Signal talk about heroing, there is such an odd type of disconnect that it throws her. Nothing horrible or major, but little things she’s sure she wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t so intimately familiar with it all herself.

They don’t always talk about heroing though. After two months, Ladybug is proud to say she seems to be worming her way past his outer shell nicely. He tried so hard to keep his distance from her, but Ladybug’s always liked a challenge, and it isn’t long before she has him relaxing around her.

Well, for a definition of relax anyway. He's still a bat after all.

But then, it’s pretty easy to get past Signal’s barriers when she’s already had practice breaking through the more stubborn bats like Robin and, to an extent, Hood. Not that Signal, or any of the bats, know that.

Which, speaking of the bats, isn’t it a bit weird she’s only met three spread across two of her alter egos? As Ladybug, she’d expect to be hounded by a few of them but the only one she’s met is Signal. She can’t decide if it’s because he’s the only one that operates in the daylight, or if they just don’t want to spook her into running or something.

Either way, they’re going to start giving her a complex. She’s heard so much about the rest of the Batfamily, and not one of them even wants to meet her? Either her?

(Maybe Marinette should ask Robin and Hood what’s up with that? The way they talk about how nosy Red Robin is, she’s surprised he didn’t drop by months ago and- is it weird that she’s offended by vigilantes not prying into her private life?

…Probably.)

***

Marinette blinks, stopping dead in her tracks.

Damian's on her fainting couch, sketchpad in his lap as he waits for her.

“Why are you wearing a beanie?” she blurts out instead of greeting him like a normal person. "You never wear beanies."

Luckily, Damian scowls at her question rather than at her. It’s a subtle but very important difference.

“Sorry,” she apologizes anyway, putting her bag down. “I haven't had coffee yet.”

He hums, then nods to her desk where she finds a steaming to-go mug. Her face lights up and she quickly snatches it, breathing deeply the lovely aroma. “You’re a godsend.”

That brings a quirk to his lips, closer to a smirk than a smile, but progress nonetheless.

After a moment, where she sips at her overly sugary monstrosity—just the way she likes it, when had Damian even noticed that?—and he continues sketching she asks again. “Okay but, I actually am kinda curious. What’s up with the hat?”

He sighs heavily, closing his pad. “It’s… better than the alternative.”

Marinette snorts. “Alternative to what? A top hat?” But instead of snapping back like she expects, he just continues to frown. Immediately, her lips turn down into a concerned frown. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” he grounds out and Marinette puts her coffee down. She’s just about to open her mouth and say something else when he reaches up and rips the beanie off his head.

For the second time in less than five minutes, she stops dead.

Marinette opens her mouth. Closes it. Blinks, but the scene doesn't change.

His hair is still blue.

Damian Wayne's hair is blue.

Damian Wayne’s hair is vibrantly electric blue.

Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth as she tries to stifle her giggles.

Damian’s scowl deepens. He moves to shove his ridiculous beanie back on his head but her hand snaps out before he can.

“No! No, I’m sorry I just-” she giggles again. “You looked so upset by it and you took me by surprise. I like it!”

He glares up at her, still sat on the fainting couch so it’s her who has the height advantage for once.

“Don’t patronize me.”

She rolls her eyes, the hand that wasn’t settled on his arm reaching up to touch the bright strands. It's slow enough that he can stop her, but he, surprisingly, makes no move to.

His hair is a lot softer than she expects it to be. But she supposes he didn’t use that gel stuff today, planning on keeping his hair under a hat the whole time.

“It looks good on you,” she says softly.

He snorts disbelievingly and she smacks his shoulder lightly. “It’s true! I swear you could look good in any color.” She clicks her tongue longingly. “I wish I had your skin tone. I’m too pale to wear pastels like I want.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Pastels?”

“Oh you hush,” she quips, finally pulling her hand from his hair. “Anyway, if you don’t like it, why’d you dye it blue in the first place?”

“I… lost a wager with Todd.”

She laughs, starting to move around and get ready for the day. She doesn’t have any meetings scheduled, which means she gets the whole day to create. She’s pretty excited about it.

“I should’ve guessed it was Jason’s doing.”

Damian shrugs, settling back into the cushions. He drapes himself across them in a way that’s effortlessly elegant and like he’s ready to be photographed for a magazine cover or something. Must all her friends be so pretty? It’s playing hell on her self-esteem.

“But blue is your favorite color, right? So there’s that at least.”

Damian hums. “Todd had threatened to dye it pink or some other equally garish color.”

“Hey!” she exclaims in mock outrage. “What’s wrong with pink? I’ve been wanting to dye my hair pink for ages.”

“Nothing. It’s just simply not a color I appreciate.” He makes a face. “Like orange.”

Marinette huffs, but there’s a smile on her lips. It's quiet for a moment, for long enough that she thinks the conversation's been dropped. But then-

“Why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why haven’t you dyed your hair?” he repeats. “Your friends—Couffaine and… Kubdel? They both have colored hair.”

Marinette shrugs. “I dunno. Never got around to it I guess. I suppose I could do it now. Dye mine in solidarity,” she jokes. “Oh! We could match even! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I thought you wanted pink?”

“Well, yeah. But blue is nice too. Besides,” she smiles wryly over her shoulder, “you just said pink was ‘garish’.”

Damian frowns slightly, shaking his head, “On me, perhaps. But I think you’d look very fetching in pink.”

“Oh,” Marinette pauses, feeling her face grow warm at the sudden compliment. “Well- Uh, pink it is, then.”

***

(Damian watches the blush rise on her cheeks as she turns away to try and hide it. Yes, he can’t help but think, fetching in pink, indeed.)

***

Luka insists on being the one to dye her hair, citing that he’s the one who had dibs all these years, but Alix and Jason both all but demand to be there too.

Her bathroom is not big enough for all four of them to sit in.

Not a single one of them cares.

Cass and Duke ask for progress pics along with Uncle Jay, and all her Parisian friends cycle through standing at the bathroom door to see how it's going.

The constant stream of people looking at her makes her feel not unlike an animal at a zoo. (When she wryly tells this to Alix, all she gets is her friend cackling on the ground.)

But, after all the bleaching and conditioning and waiting, she stares into the mirror with soft pink hair the color of bubblegum and thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

She thinks it again when Damian walks in the next day and almost trips over his own feet.

(She’s also wearing her Robin themed sundress, complete with hood, matching boots and personal touches not found on the mass-produced version—but Marinette doesn’t know why that would be relevant.)

Her favorite reaction to her new hair color though is, by far, Mar’i’s.

Marinette doesn’t see the young Grayson until a week later when she’s invited to the monthly family dinner Alfred insists all the Waynes attend—which includes her now, apparently (she tries not to show how pleased she is by that).

She arrived with Damian, who was kind enough to pick Tim and her up from work, and Mar’i takes one look at Damian and her standing next to one another before she starts babbling excitedly about Lilo and Stitch and Angel. A character who is—apparently—Stitch’s girlfriend and the complimentary pink to his blue.

Marinette is momentarily surprised, but Mar’i’s enthusiasm is contagious and it isn’t long before the rest of the Waynes are teasingly calling them Angel and Stitch. Marinette thinks it’s all very funny and adorable.

Damian, on the other hand, most certainly does not and threatens everyone who calls him that ‘ridiculous nickname’ with graphic depictions of bodily harm.

‘Angel’, oddly enough, sticks for Marinette. She finds she kind of likes it.

***

Later, Damian asks her about nicknames.

Well, he calls them ‘asinine titles’ and doesn’t so much ask as demand she explain why she allows anyone to call her by them seeing as she has a ‘perfectly serviceable name,’ in his opinion.

Ignoring the fact that she’s heard Dick call him multiple nicknames he hadn’t protested to, she says, “Well, I guess it’s that everyone uses Marinette. A nickname is something… special. A little more personal, I guess. And, I dunno. My parents named me Marinette, but it’s nice to share something between other people. And it shows they care.”

Damian looks confused after she’s done, but also thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything to that and Marinette doesn’t really expect anything to come of it.

She's proven wrong when, a week later, Damian calls her Starling instead of Marinette.

(And the transition from Dupain-Cheng to Marinette had been enough to make her beam—this is just ridiculous.)

***

When Robin disappears a second time, Marinette doesn’t get the chance to notice his absence on her own. He’s only stopped showing up four days ago—which is longer than normal, but not unheard of—when she hears unfamiliar voices on her balcony.

Looking out, she finds three semi-familiar individuals clustered around the plate of treats she leaves out for Robin and Hood.

Nightwing and Red Robin are both stuffing their faces full of the fruit tarts she had made while Spoiler glares at them and seems to be cursing the fact that her mask covers her mouth the same way Hood always does when she makes those raspberry scones he likes.

The scene is… odd. For many reasons but most pressingly that their arrival has come out of nowhere.

“Well,” Nightwing explains when she asks, “We wanted to visit ages ago, but baby bird threatened to stab us all if we tried.”

“He’s very… particular about you,” Red Robin tacks on while Spoiler nods sagely like she hasn’t crafted some strange straw monstrosity just so she can drink tea while still wearing her mask. Red Robin has one too, but his for the aesthetic rather than out of necessity.

Marinette stares at the three of them. “That… does not explain why you are here now.”

“Robin can’t stop us now, obviously,” Red Robin says casually, like he hasn't just kicked her heart into high gear with a few words.

“What? Why?” she demands, trying very hard not to sound panicked. “Is he okay? Was he hurt?”

Red Robin blinks, going quiet in that way Hood and Robin do when they’re judging her just a bit. She hates this family.

“No, he’s… fine.”

“B’s just benched him for the time being,” Nightwing helpfully supplies, amusement flickering at the edges of his lips. “He’s a little too… conspicuous at the moment.”

Marinette’s shoulders relax even as her brows furrow. Conspicuous? What in the world is that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean he won’t be coming around for a while?” she asks before she can think better of it.

The three vigilantes in front of her share a look before Spoiler says, “Probably. But the gremlin’s never been one to sit still so who knows?” she smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners as she leans toward Marinette conspiratorially. “But don’t worry. We can keep you company in the meantime!”

“We’re much better company than the demon anyway. Certainly less insulting.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad. He’s an ass, for sure, but you can tell when he means it and when he’s just stumbling over himself.” Marinette smiles fondly, “For someone so dignified, he trips over his tongue quite often.”

Now the vigilantes are really staring at her. She’s starting to feel pretty uncomfortable about it all when Nightwing beams at her, jumping up from his seat to sweep her into a hug. It startles her, but she doesn’t push him away, instead laughing at the sudden affection.

“Oh you really are perfect!” he exclaims, setting her down and still grinning like an absolute lunatic.

She’s smiling, because Nightwing’s joy is infectious, but she's even more confused than before. And then, before she can ask what he means, Red Robin’s wrist computer lights up—and damn, isn’t that cool? Marinette wonders if Tikki could do something like that for the Ladybug suit—and the three are moving to swing back out into the night.

She waves them off and they all promise to visit again.

Marinette shakes her head before going back inside with the empty pastry plate and four empty mugs.

***

Damian knows of Marinette’s friends of course. It'd take more effort not to when she talks about them every chance she gets and tells him all the wild stories about their escapades and misadventures.

(They also all came up in the background check he ran on her when they first met.)

Most of her friends are exceedingly normal oddly enough. Well, they’re all mildly famous and the leaders of their various fields, but they’re just civilians.

The only exceptions being, Bourgeois, Agreste, and Graham de Vanily.

Bourgeois is a former hero like Marinette, only she doesn't seem to still be in contact with the Parisian Court. All the articles he could find spoke about how Queen Bee was deemed unfit for her mantle and later replaced by the new bee hero, Ambrosia. Agreste was caught up in the scandal of his father being Hawkmoth, but he was found innocent and ignorant of his father's crimes (something Damian made sure to confirm). He now works at and is being groomed to own the bakery Marinette's parents run, seeing as their daughter has little interest to do it herself.

And finally, Graham de Vanily, Agreste's cousin, has a history of causing trouble wherever he goes. Nothing villainous, and rarely even malicious, but there's something about him that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Not everything is as it seems with the Graham de Vanily heir.

Besides those three outliers, Marinette's friends seem to be untouched by the vigilante life. Which means he thinks they must be utterly boring.

Only, when her friends start coming around to visit and drag her out for lunch or some other random outing, Damian keeps finding himself baffled by each of them.

They act strangely and with a dangerous air none of them should possess, except for Tsurugi. The questions they ask him are strange and the jokes they make have no sense. He's been warned about how he better treat Marinette so many times, he's started to lose count. (Which is ridiculous. He treats her just fine and would never intentionally harm her. What are they trying to insinuate?)

But, by far, his most memorable encounter is with Lahiffe. A veritable wolf in sheep's clothing.

Marinette is excitedly babbling about her newest idea for her summer collection, pressed up against him on the chaise and practically shoving her sketches in his face as she demands his critique and thoughts.

Her hands are waving every which way and, on more than one occasion, he has to quickly lean back so she doesn't hit him in the face.

He’s focusing on what she’s saying so much—because she has a habit of forgetting things if she doesn’t write them down and needs someone to remind her of the ideas she had at a later time—that he doesn’t even realize Lahiffe is there until he clears his throat.

Marinette jumps, almost elbowing him in the stomach. “Nino!” she shouts, springing up and flinging herself at the other man who catches her like this is something she does often.

“Heya, Nettie.”

“Wait- what are you doing here? You’re not-” she jolts back to look at Lahiffe’s amused expression. “Oh kwami, is it time already? Shit. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry! I have to give this one thing to Publishing but then I promise we can go, okay? Like, just five minutes!”

She's already moving before she finishes speaking, sweeping up papers and rearranging files and putting things away with all the swiftness and agility of a speedster. Damian watches her go about her routine, occasionally handing her something she’s dropped or pointing out a thing she’s missed, weaving around her chaos with practiced ease.

Then she’s sweeping out of the office with a distracted “be right back!” and he’s alone with Lahiffe.

The second Marinette leaves, the man’s attention swings onto him with a strange weight. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything and Damian’s hackles raise with every passing second.

He doesn’t snap at him though, because he’s one of Marinette’s friends. Insulting him would only serve to make her upset and that’s something Damian's been trying to avoid causing as of late.

“Man,” Lahiffe says at last. “Alix wasn’t kidding about the whole besotted thing, huh?”

Damian rears back, straightening up to his full height. “I beg your pardon?”

Lahiffe laughs and waves his hand about like that’s supposed to mean something. “Ah, no need to be embarrassed about it, dude. You’re far from the first of us to fall for her charms.”

“What.”

“Yeah, we've all been there. I think over half of the Paris crew crushed on her at some point, including myself. None of us are into her like that anymore, so as long as you treat her right, you got nothing to worry about."

“I’m not- I'm not interested in Marinette,” Damian tries to protest but Lahiffe just calmly steamrolls over him.

“Nah. Everyone loves Nettie. It’s universal law or something. First, there was me and Adrien, then Luka—who she actually liked back for a while there but are now practically siblings. Chloé liked her in collége, but she hadn’t really come to terms with that at the time. Alix might’ve, but she’s pretty grey-ace and fluctuates on the romance points, so who knows.

“Oh! And Nath. He also snagged a date with her, but he was an Akuma at the time so I’m not technically sure that it counts. And he’s with Marc now anyway. Thinking of adopting a kid, last I heard. Anyway- my point was: everyone loves Nettie. And don’t bother trying to fight it, because it only makes her pull of gravity worse.”

Lahiffe then claps him on the shoulder like their talk amiable and not the most confusing speech Damian’s ever heard.

And then he doesn’t even get to say anything to that because Marinette is sprinting back through the door, grabbing her jacket and bag, telling him goodbye, and dragging Lahiffe out to who knows where.

Damian stands there longer than he cares to admit trying to make the world make sense again.

***

A week and a half after she learned Robin was benched, Damian catches her staring off into space as she doodles tiny robins in the margins of her sketchbook.

He gives her an odd look when she scrambles to hide them, blushing hotly and babbling about how she’s “Just fine! Nothing to worry about! I’m just, maybe, perhaps, a little worried for a friend even though I shouldn’t be, because his family says he’s just fine and-”

He looks contemplative when he leaves that day, but he didn’t ask about her outburst, so she extends the same courtesy to him.

***

That night, Robin returns.

“What,” she says around the laughter threatening to bubble out of her throat, “are you wearing?”

Robin scowls from behind the full cowl he has on that she’s pretty sure belongs to Red Robin. It makes him look a whole ten years older and she can’t get over how ridiculous he looks. If he keeps doing stupid things with his face while wearing that monstrosity, she is definitely going to laugh at him.

“What are you wearing?” he shoots back petulantly.

She blinks in confusion, then realizes she’s still wearing her Red Hood inspired jacket right now. Tan colored fake leather with fuzzy, red inner lining, done with all the same pockets, buttons, and zippers Red Hood has on his own jacket. It looks almost exactly like the jacket she fixed for him all that time ago, except she's also added a soft, crimson hood and his own personal bat symbol stitched across her shoulder blades.

As far as things she's designed goes, this is one of her simpler ones. It's nothing like the elaborate creations she makes for the Ambrosia or Ryuko themed items.

But Red Hood was a simple kind of person, and she likes that it’s reflected in her work.

Robin doesn't seem to agree if the poorly concealed disdain on his face means anything.

“What?” she asks teasingly, “You jealous?”

He scoffs and looks off to the side. “Of course not. I simply do not understand why you’d want anything to do with that simpleton. Especially not when I know you have clothing articles referencing far superior individuals.”

She snorts good-naturedly, "What 'individuals'? You mean you?"

The way he raises his nose self importantly is answer enough, and she can't stop herself from rolling his eyes. "Well, it's certainly a start. But I'm not the only one."

"Oh, yeah? And who else is marvelous enough to stand on the same level as you?"

"Multimouse."

Her mouth goes dry, and she can tell Robin is pointedly not looking at her.

“Come inside,” she blurts in lieu of all the things she really wants to say—which are mostly just embarrassing variations of I missed you. “I can, uh, make us tea. If you want.”

It's the first time she’s ever invited him inside and she can see the small bit of shock on his face—well, what she can see of it anyway—before he schools it.

“Yes,” he says in a tone of voice that implies it was his idea in the first place. “That sounds… good.”

She steps aside, allowing him to pass her by into the flat. Only instead of just walking past her, he stops halfway through the doorway and stares at her. She’s about to ask what’s wrong when he reaches out with his hand to gently grab a lock of her hair.

“Pink suits you, by the way.”

She quirks her lips, “Yeah? You don’t think it’s… too much?”

The corners of his mouth turn down, “Absolutely not. You look…” he trails off, mouth flattening into a line and dropping his hand.

She blinks at the odd behavior. “Nice?” she offers tentatively.

He nods, but it’s a little jerky and strange. But before she can ask about it, he’s already turning to enter her flat like he owns the place, remarking about her choices of tea and if she’s finally acquired an ‘adequate teapot’.

She shakes off the moment and goes in to follow him before he wrecks her kitchen in his careless search for tea supplies.

***

MinnieMouse: COME GET YALL JUICE

and by juice i mean me

I still do not have an american license

JaneAustenStanAccount: what do we get out of it?

MinnieMouse: ???

the pleasure of my company??

also youre literally the one that invited me to watch megamind

JaneAustenStanAccount: and??

daisyduke: shut up jay

we all know youre soft for M stop tryin to play tough

MinnieMouse: this is why duke is my favorite

he’s a living callout post

swanlake: :(

MinnieMouse: second favorite

im so sorry cass ily

swanlake: :)

daisyduke: i aint even mad

JaneAustenStanAccount: I AM

guys wtf

MinnieMouse: you brought this on yourself

maybe you should be nicer to me

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

daisyduke: ‘get fucked jason’ -marinette 2k20

btw im omw for you now

MinnieMouse: thnx ur the best

also im bringing scones as movie snack

daisyduke: noice

swanlake: !!!

JaneAustenStanAccount: FUCK YEAH!!!

MinnieMouse: you dont get any Jay

JaneAustenStanAccount: >:(

i hate it here

***

Marinette doesn’t know a lot about Robin’s past, which she assumes is by design. Secret identities don’t lead well to handing out details and concrete information about one’s personal life.

But, she thinks, one would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not see that whatever facsimile of a childhood Robin had was about eight different levels of fucked up.

It’s in the vague allusions to ‘training’ and the scorn filled way he says the word ‘mother’. It’s in the not-quite-confusion—because whatever family he has is better now, at least—of Marinette telling him about her own parents. About the happy memories she’s shared with them, of learning to bake bread and croissants and macaroons under the loving guidance of her father and practicing delicate designs and frosting techniques with her mother.

So, yeah. She knows he’s kind of messed up and definitely checks off the childhood trauma box that’s apparently one of the requirements for being her friend.

So when Robin suddenly decides to go against everything she’s learned about him up until this point and actually share something about himself—and when that thing he shares just so happens to be a story from his childhood—well… Marinette wouldn’t say she’s prepared, but she’s not- prepared.

He’s in her kitchen, because Marinette has learned her lesson about bleeding vigilantes on her couch, and she’s pretty sure he could’ve gone back to the Cave for this, but he came here for whatever reason. (Was closer, he said. Marinette doesn’t know if she believes him.)

She’s cleaning the knife wound on his arm, and she has his cape laid out across her island. There’s a hole in it she plans on sewing back up after she finishes sewing the hole in her reckless vigilante back up.

“You need to be more careful,” she scolds. “You’re lucky this didn’t nick something important.”

“It's hardly the worst wound I’ve ever acquired,” he tells her in a tone of voice that he probably thinks is reasonable. “At seven years old I had to dig a bullet out of my side in the middle of a Himilayan snowstorm while still making it back to base with time to spare after having successfully assassinated a Russian ambassador.”

Marinette pauses where she’s smoothing the gauze onto his bicep. Her eyes flick up to his, and she sees the exact moment he seems to realize what he just told her. He’s gone utterly still beneath her hands, with terror or worry or the effort it takes not to bolt out the window immediately, she doesn’t know.

“That’s horrifying,” she tells him as she finishes securing the obnoxiously bright bandage, “Never tell me that story again.”

She then drops a kiss onto his bicep, subtly imbuing it with enough luck that it will keep off any infection—the wound was filthy when he came in, seriously, was he in a sewer?—and pats his cheek warmly before moving to clean up all her supplies.

She feels his eyes on her the rest of the night, but every time she turns to him, she can’t tell what he’s thinking. All she knows is that he seems… softer, in a way.

***

Three days after Marinette’s unexpected look into Robin’s past, she finds a box on her desk. It’s a jewelry box, and the only reason she doesn’t immediately freak out is the fact that it lacks any of the miracle box markings.

Still, she opens it hesitantly, and inside, she finds a necklace. A completely normal, non-magical necklace that’s simple and pretty and very much shaped like a tiny toy mouse.

There is no note.

***

(Lahiffe was right.

The Earth spins around the sun. The sky is blue.

Everyone loves Marinette.)

***

The necklace is obviously supposed to be a reference to her Multimouse days, but that doesn’t exactly narrow down who could have left it for her.

Or well, it does, but all the people it narrows down to don’t make any sense.

Multimouse is a badly kept secret, but it’s still a secret. Most people outside Paris don’t know about her and the people in Paris didn’t exactly recognize her off the street either.

Her Court knows, obviously, and so do the Waynes and the bats. But her Court wouldn’t leave her mouse themed gifts, they tend toward ladybugs or their own animal motif as a gift (the amount of cat and bee themed items she owns is ludicrous).

Which leaves the Waynes and the bats.

But her Waynes wouldn’t leave the gift on her desk, and they certainly wouldn’t forget to put a note, so Duke, Jason, and Cass are out.

She must stand there thinking about it too long, because then Jeremy's walking in, just as bright and early as ever.

He sees her holding the box and his face turns a strange mix of curious and outraged. “Is it your birthday? I swear, Boss if you didn't tell us it was your birthday-”

“No, Jeremy,” she says, amused despite her confusion. “That’s not for a while yet. I found this when I walked in,” she shakes the box slightly for emphasis, “but there wasn’t a note.”

“Oh.” A smile slowly spreads across Jeremy’s face. “Oh?” he purrs, waggling his eyebrows at her. “Does the boss have a secret admirer?”

Marinette blinks and- what?

“What? No. I can’t- That doesn’t-” she splutters but Jeremy just laughs and walks over to his station to start setting up for the day, leaving Marinette to her breakdown.

Because this can’t have been left by a secret admirer. That’s just crazy.

There are exactly two people who could’ve left this for her and neither of them would be an admirer of any kind. And she wouldn’t want them to be anyway because that would be stupid and ridiculous and weird.

She doesn’t like Robin or Damian like that…

Right?

***

(It’s impossible not to love her, he realizes, mostly by accident.

She loves, wholeheartedly and unafraid and so much more than Damian had ever thought one person could. She loves with a ferocity and passion no person deserves or can match.

And Damian, foolishly, loves and wishes to be loved by her anyway.)

***

There are roses on her desk the next day, potted and still healthy.

The day after that, there’s a box of expensive chocolates. Like, the kind only Adrien, Felix, and Chloé buy without a second thought. The gossip has spread far enough that all of her designers know about the gifts and probably-admirer.

On the fourth day, there is a box full of high-quality pencils and a new sketchbook, one with nice thick drafting paper, but small enough to fit in her favored bag. Her name is embossed across the front, along with her personal motif of delicate apple blossoms.

On the fifth day, she shows up to find there is only a drawing, which should point to it being Damian, but drawing-her is holding a robin in her cupped palms which cannot be a coincidence. Drawing-her also looks serene and beautiful with her mouth curved slightly and her eyes gentle and soft and Marinette is as touched by the image as she is frustrated by it.

There are hair sticks on the sixth, and delicate pins shaped like flowers on the seventh. Another stunning drawing of her on the eighth, a bottle of wine older than Master Fu on the ninth, the softest cashmere blanket on the tenth, a basket of sweet floral lotions, a glass statue of a bird in flight—she gets so many gifts, Marinette has to stop keeping count.

It’s somewhere around day six that her designers must’ve ratted on her to either Felix or Chloé because it’s not long after that, that all of her friends learn about the gifts and start being terrifically unhelpful about the whole situation.

They each try to give her advice, which would be sweet if it wasn’t all equally terrible and conflicting.

They’re also placing bets on who they think her admirer is, Damian or Robin. They’re trying to be discreet about it—which means they’re failing miserably.

Marinette, admittedly, never expected any different from them.

***

Marinette begins watching Damian in the mornings with a newfound interest.

The gifts are always there before she arrives, which means they're also there before Damian arrives, so she’s in a prime position to catch his reaction.

Or, she would be, if he ever reacted. He barely glances at them and never says anything unless the gift is particularly obnoxious, like the giant stuffed mouse she found sitting in her chair last week. (It was almost as big as she was. Adrien, Nino, and Alix had ended up on the floor from laughing so hard when they’d seen it.)

Damian almost never comments on the gift she received that day, but whenever she uses or wears something that her mysterious admirer had gotten for her, he makes sure to compliment her. Which would be very suspicious except that Robin does the same thing.

It’s just- they’re both so frustratingly silent about it all! Marinette is this close to just grabbing one or both of them by the shoulders and just shaking until they tell the truth.

It’s driving her insane! Before the necklace appeared on her desk, she didn’t even know that she liked Robin and Damian.

And now she’s overanalyzing their nonreactions. She hates it.

It feels too much like she’s back in collège, trying to sort out her feelings for Adrien and Chat. (Who ended up being the same person—which was just very inconsiderate of him, really. The least he could do is let her angst have meaning dammit!)

And- ugh. What if she doesn't even like either of them? What if her mind is just making her think she does because the idea of them liking her was presented? What then? Or what about the fact that the two boys are also ridiculously similar when she thinks about it. What if she only likes one and is just projecting her feelings onto the other because her mind associates the two?

Oh, she doesn’t like that thought. That thought makes her feel upset and like she wants to cry into a tub of ice cream.

Nino happily indulges her and doesn't even complain when she eats her way through his stash of mint chip as she dramatically complains about stupidly confusing boys.

Honestly, she may as well be back in lycée.

***

(What Marinette does not realize in the midst of all her careful analysis of his reactions, is that it’s not the gifts he’s focused on.

When she wears the necklace and hair sticks, she misses the way his eyes linger on the slope of her neck. As she cares for her roses, she doesn’t notice the way he follows the easy nimbleness of her fingers. She uses her sketchbook and eats the expensive chocolates and doesn’t pay attention to the way he steals glances at her lips. She doesn't see the way his hands twitch when she ventures just near enough to touch.

(She exists next to him, in any form or light, and he is captivated by her very presence.)

Marinette looks, but it is in all the wrong places.)

***

Strangely enough, it’s Signal who helps her with her internal crisis—completely unintentionally and in a very roundabout way—but he helps all the same.

He’s taken an… interest, she supposes, in her magic. One that is entirely his own and has very little to do with that Bat from what she can tell.

His abilities and hers stem from different origins, but she would be lying if she said his weren’t oddly complementary to her own. His precognition abilities stemming from his photokinesis has been useful on more than one occasion regarding the experimental spell matrices she, Tikki, and Nooroo have been testing out.

The magic is normally invisible to people without a Miraculous, but Signal seems to have little trouble seeing what she’s doing, even if he can’t interact with it the way she can.

(There is also the fact that she seems… more when he is around. Days that he spends watching her do her work go by faster and smoother than when he is away. Her magic is easier, and her mind spins with ideas and creations faster.

It’s an odd phenomenon and Ladybug is looking into it.)

There has been more than one occasion where Signal had warned her of the matrix’s imminent collapse with enough time for her to prepare herself for its blowback.

The version she’s working on today is their fifth iteration. It’s supposed to pull the miasma out of the building, filter it through her and Tikki’s own magical energy, before flowing back into the brickwork. Marinette had thought of the idea while talking with Nooroo.

If she can get it to work, it will shift the misfortune into good luck and order and release it back into the environment. Then she’ll only need to cleanse strategic portions of the city in a lattice network, and the creative and destructive energies will mix from there, balancing themselves without much input from her at all.

Of course, that’s only if she can actually get it to work. It’s been almost a month and this is the fifth version and it’s already collapsed on her three times in the last hour. Signal must see the frustration on her face and has taken to trying to distract her with small talk.

She’s very thankful for it, actually. If he wasn’t doing that, she would probably start screaming right here and now, on this random rooftop in the residential district. Which would just be very startling and embarrassing for everyone involved, so. You know. Glad she doesn’t have to do that.

Eventually, she asks him, apropos of nothing, “You’re a detective right?”

He pauses, and blinks at her, likely trying to follow the train of thought that led her to that question. She assumes he did not find it because when he speaks, he still sounds confused.

“Yes? I guess that’s technically what I am.”

“So you’re good at figuring out who’s behind a crime?”

Signal only looks more confused. “Yeah? But Ladybug, what-”

“Great, so. Hypothetically, if you had two suspects for a—well it’s not a crime. A… thing? Situation. How would you figure out which one of them is actually behind the… situation?”

Signal’s lips quirk, just a bit despite his confusion. “I think I’m gonna need a little more to go on than just ‘a situation,’ LB.”

Ladybug purses her lips and stares down at the light weaving intricate patterns in the space between her palms. Slowly, carefully, she tells him, “There are items being left where a person can find them. But the identity of the person leaving them and their intentions are unknown.”

“Are the items dangerous?” he asks worriedly.

Ladybug shakes her head. “No. They're more like gifts.”

“Are the gifts unwanted or creepy? Unsettling? Threatening?”

Another head shake. “Just confusing and… thoughtful.”

“Someone is leaving you thoughtful gifts and you're worried about that… why?” Signal asks, slowly and disbelievingly.

“It’s because I- wait! I’m not the person!” she panics, causing the magic to spark dangerously in her hands but she barely notices. “The person doesn’t even exist. It was a hypothetical question!”

Signal stares at her. She can’t see his eyes or the top half of his face, but she just knows he’s raising his eyebrow judgingly at her.

“Stop that!” she snaps. “Stop being perceptive! I have enough perceptive people in my life so knock it off!”

Signal laughs like the horrible person he is. “But don’t you need me to be perceptive? That’s like, a requirement to be a detective.”

“Stop it,” she says again, mulishly and very childish.

And isn’t that an odd thought to have? Ladybug being childish.

How novel. Ladybug has never once been childish. She can’t afford to be, because when she is behind the mask, she is all the most important parts of herself. She is the Grand Guardian, is the one who must be in control at all times because she has an entire team to keep safe and alive.

Behind the mask, she’s all of her greatest responsibilities.

But here, in Gotham and with Signal, she is none of those things to him. She is simply another hero, that is his age and very much like him in ways so few are. Ladybug, in the moments she spends with Signal, is probably the closest she has ever been to carefree while in the mask.

It’s as comforting a thought as it is terrifying.

Signal raises his hands in surrender, but his lips are still quirked in amusement.

Ladybug regrets starting this conversation.

She regrets it even more when, five minutes later, Signal manages to pull the rest of the story from her… along with a name.

She realizes her mistake a second too late to stop herself, and then all she can do is watch.

She watches, with ever-growing horror, as Signal slowly puts the pieces together. She watches, as her whole secret identity starts unraveling around her for the first time ever. She watches, stricken, as Signal opens his mouth to speak.

And then she grabs both sides of his head and Orders him to sleep.

***

The second Marinette bespells him, she regrets it.

She was panicking, okay? And Marinette panicking is very different from Ladybug panicking and truly, she creates messes just by existing.

Nooroo flies out of his hiding place to make distressed noises at the now unconscious Signal with her, which is… actually kinda soothing, if not exactly helpful.

At least she knows she’s not the only one upset right now.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no!” Nooroo frets, flitting around her head with agitated wings. Hers aren’t much better, if she’s being honest. “What are we going to do, Guardian? He knows who you are! This is bad.”

Marinette worries her thumb between her teeth, shifting her weight from foot to foot. With a thought, she's back in her civvies and Tikki is perched on her shoulder, blinking at the scene she’s suddenly a part of.

“Well,” Tikki says, sounding far too calm for the situation. “This isn’t ideal.”

The laugh that escapes Marinette is on the edge of hysterical. “You think?”

“It’s not ideal,” Tikki repeats firmly, “But neither is it a disaster.”

Nooroo lands on her other shoulder as she kneels down beside Signal to rearrange his limbs to not be so uncomfortable. “But he's unpredictable!” he argues, curling into the side of her neck like she will hide him from the world. “We don’t know what he’ll do with this information!”

Tikki hums thoughtfully. “Then we will have to ask. There are far worse people we could have been revealed to. We're lucky it was a friend rather than foe.”

“You think so?” Marinette asks softly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

She knows the Bat’s flock are good people. Many of them are her friends, or people she hopes to call friends soon.

But she doesn't know if these people Marinette calls friends could be Ladybug’s allies.

The bats hoard secrets like black holes, and perhaps they would keep hers just as well, but they could just as easily use it against her. Batman barely tolerates her presence, she can tell by the way Signal talks sometimes, and it is no small stretch of the imagination that he would use this to try and kick her out of Gotham.

Marinette cannot, as a Guardian, leave Gotham.

But more importantly, she doesn’t want to leave Gotham. It’s… her home now. Her friends are here. Her family is here. Robin and Hood and the other bats are here. Damian and all her Waynes are here.

Leaving Gotham would not only make her sick and jittery at the imbalance, but it would break her heart.

If, when Signal tells Batman, he reacts poorly, there is so much that Marinette is set up to lose. And that terrifies her.

Some of that thought process must show on her face—or perhaps Nooroo has just picked up on the turmoil in her chest—because the two Kwami are pressed on either side of her face, nuzzling and hugging as much of her as they can reach.

“We’ll make it through this, Marinette,” Tikki says firmly, no room for argument. “Don’t worry so much. Both of you. Everything will turn out just fine, you’ll see.”

***

@bluesimani @how-to-fuction-properly @chocolatecatstheron @mystery-5-5 @nickristus-dreamer @mochegato @thenillabean @animegirlweeb @novaloptr @darkdaysandfakesmiles @optimistically-pessimistic0524 @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @undecisioned @smolplantmum @blackmagicforever @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @wannajointhecrabcult @paintedhope7 @redscarlet95 @roselynfey @ira-sairain @lozzybowe @tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @2confused-2doanything @pepelachanel @too0bsessedformyowngood @miraculouspenta @itsmeevie01 @corabeth11 @jalaluvsu

#maribat #daminette #ml x dc #my typewriter #for us to collide

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thekrazykeke · 3 years

Text

See You Again [2]

Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Relationship(s): Uta & reader.

Summary: in the sound of silence, we found sanctuary. in every word unspoken, love.

Warning(s): Angst, unspoken feelings. Pre-canon events but also very ambiguous timeline-wise. Disturbing mental imagery. Canon typical gore.

This little series was never meant to have a happy ending, so no screaming at me. I’ll accept your appreciation for my love of angst in reblogs, likes, comments or tears.

Seriously though, in all honesty, I hurt myself as I wrote this.

I dunno, I might indulge that impulsive urge of mine and write a one shot where they actually get together. Most likely not though, so no one hold their breath ahahaha.

[i.]

A smart person would never have returned to the little out of the way mask shop in the 4th Ward. You’d have chalked up the experience as weird and as common sense dictated, forgotten all about it.

That is the safer route, the sane option.

So of course, you decided to be stupid. You kept coming back to the shop, although you were careful with how you planned your visits, spacing them out in between sight seeing and being a general tourist.

The added bonus of your frequent visits being that although Uta’s face didn’t really change much expression-wise, you got the feeling that he was always a little surprised to see you.

“Do you really like it here that much?”

Pulling the oni mask away from your face, you glanced at Uta who stood a good distance away from you, hand in pocket, hip cocked against the edge of the counter. “What’s that now?”

“I said, ‘do you really like it here that much?’” Uta repeated himself, red on black eyes intently trained on your face. “This is the second time this week you’ve come by without buying anything.”

“Oof.” You exaggeratedly clutched at your chest. “That hurt, Uta-san. With how frequently I come by here, one would think you’d treat me as more than a customer. We’re friends now.”

“We’re not.”

The words are stated so bluntly and again, you clutch at your chest, miming being struck by an arrow. Uta didn’t respond to your joking around and playing, just stared at you. So, you cut the crap, reaching into your back pocket with a mock pout. “How much for this mask? I think it suits me.”

“10504.50 yen.” At the sight of your suddenly wide eyes and dropped jaw, Uta’s blank expression cracked, he smiled slightly and just for a split second. “Also, the mask doesn’t suit you.”

You turned your back to him, carefully returning the oni mask to the display it’d been set up on. The next second you turned around, you nearly jumped out of your skin at how close Uta is now. “Hey now! Shit, you need a bell or something.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention.”

You can’t even pull off your comedic routine and drop your head in an ‘ashamed’ manner because you’d probably most likely hit your head against his chest, he’s standing that close. Before you could ask him to either back up and inquire what was his reason for being in your personal space, a tattooed finger reached out, lightly touching your chin, encouraging you to look up, so that’s what you did.

“...I can create a mask for you. Something that suits you.” He’s now adjusting your face, the faintest touch causing you to move this way and that.

“Aww! That’s nice of you, Uta-sa-”

“The base color would be silver, perhaps. And the eyes would sewn shut, the better to hide your grief and... the anger.” He’s musing aloud, words quiet and almost a whisper, but you heard him. Part of you think it’s deliberate, that he’s making fun of you, mocking you.

And it worked.

You reached a hand up, setting it upon his wrist. Uta blinked, staring down at your hand, then his unique gaze switched to you, and he.... for a lack of better words, it’s like he snapped out of that artist’s mode. He dropped his hand and took one step out of your personal bubble then another and another before whirling around and started walking away.

He lifted a hand in farewell, waving it about in a sort of shooing manner.

“Come back again in two to three weeks.”

That should have been the end of you and his interactions.

Regardless of how intriguing he is, he’d pressed on one of your triggers, maybe even on purpose, and you already had too short of a life to put up with the bullshit. Then again, maybe it was for that reason entirely that you decided that you were gonna keep seeing him, even after he finished the mask, to annoy him to death of course.

Until he told you upfront to go away, you wouldn’t. That’s what you decided.

And with that resolution settled in your head, you could go about your business. You enjoyed the sights, the food, and although your judgement said it’d be a bad idea, you had a couple of one night stands. The first is a lawyer that you’re like pretty sure has kids and a wife, and the other is a stressed college kid.

The experience left you unsatisfied and irritated.

Since your last encounter with Uta had been...awkward and strained, you decided to bring a peace offering. Cream puffs for yourself with green tea and a cup of black coffee for him. You’d picked up on the fact that he liked the beverage without sugar and cream like the total heathen he is. You idly wondered if he even enjoyed sweet things or maybe he was one of those weird folks who liked sour and spicy stuff all the time.

The fact that you’re even thinking about this and it didn’t sink in as odd or out of place until the moment you crossed the threshold of HYSY Studios, taking note of the fact that the place is as gloomy and empty of customers as always.

“’Ey! Uta, where you at!?”

There’s a vibration against your leg. You juggle the items in your hold carefully before tugging out your cellphone and entering the passcode to unlock the phone. The most recent text message you’d received from Uta about four minutes ago informed you of the fact that he’s in the back of the studio, like the very, very back, where all the unused and returned masks were. Now the only reason you knew all this information is because of how often you pestered Uta about it.

You’re at an impasse.

You could do as he asked and bring your treat to him while you were at it or you could wait and avoid the potential jump scare that Uta was totally capable of inflicting upon you.

‘To go or not to go, that is the question.’

Everything pointed to the clear conclusion that no, you absolutely should not go back there. Every horror movie cliché ended with the female protagonist being killed or gravely injured because she was so stupid as to go in the dark, alone, by herself.

‘Uta isn’t a killer though.’ That’s what you tried to tell yourself, the argument weak and pitiful in your brain.

You did not know this man well enough to be in the back where it wouldn’t be easy access to the front door, where you couldn’t bolt if he did something strange. However, you did own a mini taser and always carried mace, just as a precaution, so...

So....

Slowly, reluctantly, you did as he instructed, every warning and life training you’d received up to this point in your life sending out red neon signs telling you to wait, not be an idiot, to please please stay where you are. And you ignored all those survival instincts, heading deeper into the studio, your footfalls loud and eerie the further in you went.

Until you find him.

He’s apparently unfazed by your belated presence, focus wholly consumed with his work. Red on black eyes glanced at you for but a moment and what you carried and then at the coffee. “There’s a mini fridge, leave everything there, except the coffee. I’m almost done.”

Having some mild experience with artists and creative sorts, you avoid looking at the mask he’s working on, instead setting down the coffee in an empty space he vaguely gestured to.

Then you walk the short distance to where the only mini fridge in the room is, reaching out, you pull it open. And it’s the scent that alerts you; the fresh tang of blood. It’s too late to stop yourself and you see it, everything. The jar of eyeballs, the carefully wrapped packages of ‘meat’.

‘I’m in a back room with the potential copycat Jeffery Dahmer or...or....’

You’re not an idiot, all these little things you’d casually dismissed because you hadn’t cared enough to pay attention, to see... And now here you are. Here you are.

Fuck.

Swallowing, you calm and dampen the inner voice sCREAMING, then casually as possible, grip wobbling only slightly, do you put your treat inside the mini fridge right alongside the human body parts and flesh, then close the door, turning around.

Uta is still hard at work on the mask but his movements are slowing down.

As if nothing is amiss, you stride over just as he finally pauses to take a sip of coffee. “This is one of the ways that you make masks. Really. That’s interesting…” And you meant it too. Legs crossed, you leaned against the table, watching the mask maker in his element.

He smiles at you in that enigmatic way. “Thank you.”

The visit continues without much else in the way of incidents and subtly unsubtle revelations.

You don’t really talk and Uta doesn’t make you.

Less than twenty minutes later, once he deems the mask complete, he stands up and stretches, arms raising overhead, revealing an expanse of creamy, pale, lean and muscled torso.

Glancing away a beat too late, you catch Uta as he smiles, again, the smile lengthens into a smirk. He reaches out and plucks up the half mask delicately, taking a step towards you and your heart traitorously lurches in your chest.

Self-preservation makes you want to run as he comes closer, closer, closer...

Logic keeps you rooted in place as he carefully puts the mask on you. Tattooed fingers brush the strands of hair away from the nape of your neck, lingering as he feels the flutter of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Your heart is racing like a hummingbird.” he muses. You stare out at him from beneath the safety of the mask, the bone surprisingly not pinching or cutting your skin. “And here I thought nothing could scare you.”

“Unfortunately fear makes up the majority of the human psyche.” You can’t help the quip, tone dry. “But you’re my friend, so it’s fine.”

That last comment causes Uta to blink and stare at you in blatant surprise for a minute or two. Then he pulls himself together and shakes his head, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. “...I suppose we are friends.”

“Cool. So how much for the mask?” You reach up, about to remove it but Uta swatted at your hands, the action hard enough to sting but not leave damage. You still squawk indignantly anyway.

“It’s free. Creating it got me out of my block, so thank you.” Bringing out a cellphone, he takes a couple pictures with you, making you turn, pose, and pretty much just show off.

Once he’s done, he snags your tea and cream puffs out the fridge, then walks you to the front of the studio, giving a small wave goodbye. Brain swimming with what you just learned, amazed that he hadn’t just killed you straight off, you glance at the chilled green tea in your hand then after mentally shrugging to yourself, you take a sip and shove a cream puff in your mouth.

Hell, after the day you’ve had, you deserve to be rewarded.

Time passes, as it inevitably does.

You receive more calls from Kiani, from other friends and family members, but you are resolute in staying in Japan.

Much to your surprise, you’d actually gotten comfortable being there. Though that might have had something to do with Uta, who you continue to visit, and if he’s surprised or put out, none of that shows on his face. It’s fun to drag him places, to be around him, and you can laugh at his jokes, even the deadpan, making-fun-of-humanity ones.

He even lets you meet his other ghoul friends, Itori and Renji.

Through it all, these changes and fun things, your health slowly, steadily, gets worse even as you and Uta get closer, muddling about in a rather confusing grey area of friends...and more...

As always, the two of you are hanging out, this time you’d dragged him to an amusement park, and he held onto some of the prizes you won, gamely snapped a couple photos of you in ridiculous poses and making silly faces, etc.

It felt like a date.

Like, you’re returning from a date.

When that thought ran through your brain, you automatically looked at Uta, catching sight of his profile in the light of the setting sun and your heart clenched as you realized that he’s beautiful.

It’s with difficulty that you manage to look away but not before he catches you staring from the corner of his eye. “You’re always looking at me… Yet, you never try and get closer…” Uta’s hands are in his pockets and he is barely a foot away. “Does fear keep you at a distance…” He took a step forward.

Coming almost uncomfortably close.

“Or is there another….”

Without conscious thought, you tilt your head up and your lips meet his.

The contact is light, barely a graze, and there’s the cool sensation of his lip ring...it’s odd but hardly distracting. Your heart is beating like a jack rabbit in your chest and you know this isn’t good for you.

As you go to pull away, to disconnect, that’s when Uta finally, finally, responds.

He places a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close before tilting his head, leaned in and kissed you again.

There’s nothing teasing or patient about it. He nipped your bottom lip, barely waiting for you to part your lips before his tongue twined and stroked, expertly playing with your own, and you felt a zing of excitement travel down you spine as your tongue lightly grazed his tongue ring.

Your right hand goes to his shoulder, squeezing, holding on desperately as your legs threaten to give out.

Effortlessly, Uta holds you up, his other hand going to the dip of your back, and when you break the kiss to get some air into your burning lungs, Uta peppers feather light kisses down the column of your throat, sucking a spot just behind your ear. Only when you gasp his name, a mere whisper of a breath really, only then, does he finally stop.

Uta tops that....bombardment off with a light kiss to your forehead, lingering. Then he murmurs into your ear, “That’s how you kiss me from now on.”

With his piece said, as if he hadn’t pretty much swept you off your feet and left you stuck in LaLa Land, Uta brushed a hand down his shirt, straightening out imaginary wrinkles, before he walked away. It took a few seconds for your brain to reboot and then you hurried after him, chastising him for being mean.

There are a hundred different words that lingered on the edge and never escape your mouth. A thousand questions you never got the answer to.

There are no more kisses between you and Uta.

You pass away in your sleep that night December 31, 2XXX at 11:59 P.M. alone in your rented hotel room, dreaming of an impossible reality; of happiness between yourself and the ghoul who for a brief moment, made you feel important, seen, and desired.

Almost as if he could love you.

#uta #tokyo ghoul #uta imagine #black reader #uta tokyo ghoul #tokyo ghoul imagine #uta x reader #tg #human reader #tg imagine #thekrazykeke

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nayialovecat · 3 years

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Hi Nayia :)

I would like to know how Sammy became an ink person. Like in the book, by ingesting ink because of an accident... Or otherwise?

( I know this is a possible spoiler, but at least tell me if this is how the official version please 😣)

In fact, this story only appears in the fifth (last) part of the comic, which at the current rate of release you will probably see in about 8 or 10 years, so... FUCK SPOILERS!

Well, I understand you're asking at this point about Sammy Lawrence, the head of the Music Department? His story is a hybrid of several things, I believe, 'cause I didn't read the book. But I absorbed fan theories like a sponge. The beginning is as we know from Mr. Lawrence's recordings - that is, Joey installed a pipe in front of his office, then a pump lever inside... Mr. Lawrence checked that everything was okay everytime before entering his office.

One day Mr. Lawrence was very moved by something, presumably pissed off at the band members, and headed for his office without checking if it was safe - and he had an accident when literally drenched himself in ink. You can imagine how pissed off he was, but worse - that some ink got into his mouth and he swallowed it involuntarily.

(At this point, let's add an important note: the second type of ink, which in the comics is called Liquid Ink, was flowing in the pipes then. It acts on inky entities in such a way that it takes away their memories, and then their mind and turns them into Mindless Searchers. different. At human it works in other way. How? Well, it's highly addictive, causes strange visions, makes you feeling better, but then worse - just like a drugs.)

So Mr. Lawrence took some ink and became addicted to it instantly, though he was not aware of it at first. He began to add a few drops of ink to his morning coffee without his mind. Then he started adding a few drops of coffee to the ink. Then he was drinking the ink directly. But it's still ink, and therefore a substance that is quite harmful to the stomach. So Mr. Lawrence began to get sick and suffer. He was vomiting immediately after drinking the ink and therefore had to be drinking more ink. At the same time, he began to change from character - he became slightly unbalanced, he had strange inky visions, usually terrible and frightening, reality became less real to him than they were and everything ceased to matter to him - his work, his (few) friends, also a sweetheart... During this period, he broke off letter contact with Henry and practically stopped being at home. It coincided with the moment when Joey Drew decided to get rid of Susie Campbell - who had obviously turned to her friend and amant for help - but Sammy was so indifferent that he refused to help her. So Susie approached Joey directly and we know how that supposedly ended... And Sammy was in ever worse and worse condition on the verge of life and death...

Eventually his existence became unbearable and he decided to die. But religion kept him from killing himself, so he decided to find someone to do it. During this time, while wandering around the studio in ink visions, he accidentally came across a demon whom Joey summoned - and decided to choose him as the executor of his execution. He then made the last tape (the one we listened to in Chapter 2 as the first) - and sneaked into Joey's sanctuary, where Joey kept Bendy trapped and bounded by black magic. What happened next is a bit of a spoiler for "Before Henry", so let me just say this: Sammy Lawrence died, and Joey, having a dead employee in his private room, came up with the idea of resurrecting him with the help of dark magic. It was the first rehearsal, so well... it didn't quite turn out the way he wanted it to. New being was 100% dead. But this pushed him to further experiments...

#asknayia #Sammy Lawrence #Susie Campbell #Joey Drew #Henry Stein #Bendy #Ink Demon #SATIM #BATIM #Bendy and the Ink Machine

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youllallriseintheink · 3 years

Text

Prison Cell, Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long- it got so long that I had to split it into two parts. Anyhow, from this point forwards, you can expect a lot of violence, so be warned. This chapter will have a lot of interpersonal stuff, and the final chapter will be pretty much entirely action.

---

Sammy unlocked the door. On the other side of it was a demon. The demon. The one that had stolen her blood.

Its body was humanoid and wearing a suit and white bow tie, but its hands were made of ink. The top of its head was covered in black ink, which spiraled up into horns and spilled down its face, leaving only its mustache, mouth and chin visible. Seeing it in the light for the first time, Susie recognized it as the bottom of Joey’s face.

“Joey?” Susie asked, her voice full of wonder and fear.

“Once,” the demon said, and its voice was not Joey Drew’s. It deep, and rough, and horrible. “But I have taken over. Don’t worry- I don’t want this any more than he does. Once I find a way to separate humans from ink, I’ll go back to my dimension and free all of you to yours.” The demon turned and beckoned Susie to follow him. “Come.”

The demon led Susie through the basement, seemingly one large room full of very strange things. Pentagrams littered the floor. Scattered iron cages contained a few emaciated, ink-covered people. Shelves full of sharp tools and unknowable ingredients lined the walls.

“I can still hear him, you know,” the demon mused, taking a syringe and a number of bottles from a shelf, “Joey. His mind. I can see into him. Learn how to manipulate humans. I asked him how to crush your insurrection, and he said that I’d need to destroy your little story.”

The demon led Susie to a door and opened it, and when he did, she lost all her breath.

It was Norman, chained to the far wall. He was wearing the same clothes he had been when he was taken away several weeks ago, but now they were hanging off of him at sharp angles. Susie ran to him, and he cringed away from her. He didn’t want her to see him like this, or to feel how thin and bony he’d gotten.

“What did you do him!?” Susie demanded.

“Nothing beyond the obvious. You see, you thought that some of you could overcome us with physical power. That was your story- that your hope and your resilience would lead to freedom. I needed to show you that rebellion only forces me to take your strength. This isn’t something I wanted to do. Strong, healthy people do better work, and unfortunately Joey’s desire to manage the studio is in me. But... you forced my hand.”

The demon then pulled Susie Campbell up by the collar, pushed her against the wall, and put the syringe to her throat.

“He can’t protect you now,” the demon explained, perfectly calm. “His ability to do so was always under my control, and you made me take it away.”

All Norman could do was bury his head in his hands and listen to her whimper. The chains were too short for him to reach her, and he didn’t stand a chance against the demon anyhow. Not like this. The demon released her blood into one of the bottles, then reinserted the needle, working at an unhurried pace. He repeated the motion several times before letting her go. She fell onto her hands and knees, faint from blood loss.

---

Utterly haunted, Sammy escorted the two sickly individuals back to the music room, carrying with him the two first-aid kits and a message that Joey had written. The second he entered the recording studio, The instruments went silent. A bassist got up from his instrument and tackled Sammy to the ground.

“Okay, someone get these two to the infirmary and look after them,” the bassist ordered, “And Johnny, get the rope. We have a loyalist to hang!”

“Wait!” Sammy cried, “I carry a message from your lord!”

“Can it! You let this happen to them. Why would we listen to your stupid ‘message?’”

Meanwhile, Jack Fain picked up the message from the ground and read it. “Guys! It says if three days go by without incident, they’ll release our prisoners! Let’s not do this. Please.”

The man who’d tackled Sammy got up, snatched the message out of Jack’s hands, and skimmed over it. “Huh. You’re right. Fine. Take him to the elevator and I’ll take this to Abby. Hopefully she’ll actually use it.”

---

Abby read over the letter.

To the upper levels,

A lot of violence has occurred between the upper and lower levels recently, so let me make myself clear: I do not want war, and no matter what level you come from, you should not want loyalists to die. Without our work, you would starve. I’m sorry to have done what I did, but I think you all needed a reminder of what’s coming for you if you keep interfering with our work. I do not wish to have to do this again.

Simply put, be peaceful, do what’s needed of you, and everything will be fine. As a final peace offering, I will release your prisoners three days from now if the rebellion stops entirely.

-Joey Drew

Abby knew the letter was full of lies. That thing wasn’t Joey, and it wasn’t forced to keep them here. She knew that the others knew that, too, and she knew that now that the upper levels had tasted hope, complete compliance would be even more impossible than before. This so-called war was going to happen sooner or later, so she needed to make sure they started at an advantage. She called on Henry to help her make a plan, and called everyone into the recording studio that night to announce it. Thankfully, it seemed to satisfy even the most rebellious of souls.

---

The door to Susie’s room opened, and Abby stepped in. Susie's eyes opened weakly.

“Hey.”

“Sorry you had to miss the meeting tonight. Big things are happening, and I thought I’d let you know about them.”

“Okay,” Susie said.

“So... Joey, or, his demon, rather, has threatened to come down hard on us if there are any more signs of rebellion- and we both know that there will be. He also promised to release our prisoners if there are three days of good behaviour. So, I’ve decided that we’re breaking out the same night that our prisoners are released. The plan is for someone stealthy to go down there in the dead of night, steal the keys, and come back. After that, we’ll leave in groups of seven in order to sneak out of the portal. We’ll do it as quietly as possible, but we’ll also be packing axes and spears made from the knives you brought up. Hopefully there won’t be too many causalities.”

“Why seven?”

“We’re expecting to have ten injured people, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. There are going to be 68 of us in total, assuming that none of the prisoners died, you know, I thought that one per group would have the least chance of really compromising a group’s chances of escape. Plus, smaller groups will be quicker and quieter.”

Susie nodded.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ll be better by then. And Norman is fine, too, by the way. Well, physically. We looked him over and he doesn’t have any issues aside from the obvious. He won’t talk to any of us. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe some kind of spell.”

Susie should have felt something in regards to that, but she was honestly too exhausted from the blood loss.

“Alright. I’ll let you rest now- but tomorrow, I’m going to have to ask you about everything you saw down there- especially anything that might help me plan. Goodnight, Susie.” With that, Abby left.

---

The rebellion required planning, and management. Every axe was pulled off the walls and moved into Sammy’s sanctuary, along with the knives- just in case a loyalist decided to take them away one night. Two people guarded the elevator on each floor and at all times, and not to keep loyalists out. Loyalists were allowed right through, but any especially rebellious souls had to be kept from ruining their plan. Henry and Abby were busy planning the groups and drawing up an easy-to-follow map to the portal room. Every department head struggled to keep the remaining workers to their jobs. It seemed pointless for them to work jobs they’d quickly be fleeing from, but it was essential in order to keep suspicions to a minimum.

---

It was the night before the march. Most were turning in early, knowing that tomorrow, they would have to be on their guard well into the night. Susie had tried to do the same, but she couldn’t sleep. There was too much on her head. Too many factors that had to align if she was ever going to make it out. The horrifying possibility of facing the ink demon again if they failed. And her mind, despite there being there bigger fish to fry, kept going back to Norman, if they could ever have what they had once had again, and if Norman even wanted that anymore.

“Has Norman talked to you, yet?” Susie asked Grant once he entered their room. Since Norman hadn’t rejoined them, there was no real reason for them to still be roommates, but they’d stayed roommates anyhow, just out of habit.

“No. As far as I know, he hasn’t talked to anyone.”

“I saw him speak today. Wally wanted to help him carry something, and Norman snarled at him to back off. So, it’s not a spell- just mental stuff from being imprisoned. I wanna help him, but he won’t talk to me. Can you try?”

“Sure,” Grant said. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Susie said, biting back tears. “I just wanna know that he’s in a place where he’ll be able to handle things tomorrow. And... I know that this is the last thing that should be on my mind, but... can you ask why he’s avoiding me?”

“Oh, Susie. I...” Grant tried to find the words to comfort her. “I’ll talk to him.” Honestly, it didn’t seem like Norman was the only one who had to pull themselves together for tomorrow night.

Norman wasn’t used to being pitied. Even as a kid, after all he’d been through, his adoptive family had known that he was a problem child who needed to be set straight before he got even bigger and his aggression became more dangerous. He’d never wanted pity, either, and now that he had it, he couldn’t say that his opinion on it had improved any. He never thought he’d miss his coworkers looking at him like he was a frightening beast. Though he did cut the long, greasy hair he’d grown while imprisoned as soon as he had the chance, he’d been half-tempted to just wash it and keep it, just to somewhat retain that beastly image.

Mostly, he wanted a way to cope. He wanted to talk with his sister, or go for a walk in the woods, or somehow get out of the sight of these people without isolating himself in one room. That had been what he was doing in his off hours- both because there was little else he wanted to do and because he didn’t have the stamina he used to. It wasn’t Susie’s room. Honestly, he’d been too scared to even look at her.

Norman knew of the plan. Honestly, it had happened so quickly after he was released from his imprisonment that it was a little hard to take in. Yes, late tomorrow night, he and everyone else would end up escaping or die trying, and Norman would either reunite with his sister and put his life together from there, or it would be the end of him. It was happening, but it didn’t seem real.

There was a knock at his door. Norman pulled himself up and answered it. It was Grant. Well, out of everyone in the studio it could have been, Grant was the most tolerable.

“Hey, Norman. You... wanna play some cards?” There was a little pity in Grant’s voice. Thankfully not too much.

Norman ushered Grant into the room. They sat down on the floor, and Grant started shuffling the cards.

“So, you ready for tomorrow?”

“I guess. Kind of hard to believe it’s happening.”

Grant’s face lit up. “You’re talking!”

Norman shrugged. “It’s easy when it’s you."

“Uh, thanks. Do you want talk about... you know, what’s happened?”

“No,” Norman said, and the two played cards in silence for a while before Norman spoke up again. “Is Susie okay?”

“She’s fine. She’ll be strong enough to make it out, assuming the plan goes well.”

Norman’s face was unreadable. “Good." A long pause. “Y’know, she’s childish, and shallow, and stupid. But she was impressed with me because I was strong and I could protect her. And so, you know, she was pretty, and we did... things together. I thought that could be all it was, but she was sweet and kind to me and I went and caught feelings for her. Of course, shallow attraction based on one thing won’t last now that I look like starving stray dog, but whatever. So long as she’s okay. She’s a good girl. So long as she’s okay.”

Grant just stared at him. “Have you... looked her in the eye recently?”

“What?”

“Uh, sorry. It’s just that you’re usually so good at figuring this kind of thing out that it borders on the supernatural, and right now, you’re really, really wrong. This entire, organized rebellion started with her trying to put together a rescue team for you. She wanted to be the first one down in loyalist territory, for you. She’s actually the one who sent me, because she’s worried about how you’ll do tomorrow.”

With the last line, Norman’s face went from appreciation and disbelief to twisted anger. “For God’s sake! Joey didn’t cut my fucking legs off!”

“Well, she can’t know how well you’re doing if you avoid her. Look, if you aren’t up for it, I can go back and try to comfort her, tell her you’re fine.”

“No. No. I’ll do it. And I’m sorry that I’m not my most pleasant right now.”

Grant smiled. Nothing ever changed- the best way to get Norman to do anything was to offer to do it for him. Susie slept in Norman’s arms that night, knowing it could be their last chance to be together.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #joey drew #(sort of)#susie campbell #norman polk #abby lambert #my fanfiction #Story: prison cell

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tuffduff · 4 years

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Unexpected {part II} (Izzy Stradlin x Reader)

Pairing: Izzy x Reader

Words: 1,693

Request: @universal-scorpio “Heyyyy! I’m kinda new to the Guns fandom but I saw you were open to requests so maybe a part 2 to the Unexpected Izzy imagine please? Where Izzy and the reader have the baby?? Anyway, I love your blog and I hope you’re happy, healthy and doing well at this time! 💖”

A/N: Stradlin Sunday rolls on! Genuinely get so excited reading what you guys think, I’m always like “wow people actually like what I write!” lmao thank you guys for giving me that. I hope everyone is doing safe and well, thanks again for the request @universal-scorpio and for being so sweet! Welcome to the Jungle! ❤️🐯

Taglist: @ubernoxa

Izzy was the definition of calm and collected during your pregnancy. Your first trimester went off without a hitch if you didn’t count the nausea and hormones. When you would just burst into tears at the silliest things, like your dog getting a haircut or running out of ice cream, he would do his best to make it better. There wasn’t much he could do about the dog, but he always made sure to have every odd snack already in your house. If you wanted something you didn’t have, like sweet pickles in particular, he would leave your house—often in the middle of the night—to get it.

Really, he always seemed to know exactly what to do and never lost his patience or his cool. Sometimes you wondered in amusement if he had forgotten you were pregnant; the random onset of heartburn or tears never phased him. Or, at least that’s what you thought for a few months. Evidently, he had you fooled.

One day, while he was out taking your dog for a walk, you wandered into the studio in your home where he recorded and played music—his little sanctuary. You were surprised at the tall pile of books on a desk that you hadn’t seen before and inspected each title curiously. The Birth Partner, Pregnancy Childbirth and the Newborn, What to Expect When You’re Expecting, Your Pregnancy Week by Week.

Beside the stack of books, you found an open notebook and flipped through it. The first few pages were all full of potential song lyrics and music, but soon, his writings turned to all things concerning your baby. It was like he was a student preparing for an exam with neat notes and underlines and reminders.

“Babe?” You turned to see Izzy at the door frame, faint lines on his forehead. You could feel a wide smile growing on your lips as you turned to face him.

“What’s all of this?” You asked him curiously, raising What to Expect When You’re Expecting. “Shouldn’t I be the one reading this?” He shrugged a bit sheepishly.

“I wanted to be able to put myself in your shoes and sort of…anticipate what you’re going to be going through so I can help somehow…” He looked down a little, scratching the back of his neck. “Besides, I don’t think it’s you that needs the extra help.”

“Izzy! Are you worried?” You asked, abandoning the books and walking in front of him to cradle his face and lift his gaze up to meet yours. Your tummy rested against his, preventing you from getting as close as you wanted.

“This is just something I don’t want to fuck up.” He admitted quietly, finally looked you in the eyes. His hands drifted up and rested on your tummy. “I don’t want to let you or our baby down.”

“Babe…there’s nothing wrong with doing a little preparation. But you shouldn’t be worried, you’re going to be a great father. And you’re gonna make mistakes.” He looked up sharply. “I am too. I’m not perfect, no one is. But I know we’re going to do the best we can and this baby isn’t going to be lacking any love or care from either of us. And I know as long as I have you by my side, we’re gonna figure this out as we go and be alright.” He relaxed a little bit and nodded finally, raising his hands to stroke your hair.

“Somehow, I keep finding ways to fall even more in love with you.” He told you, kissing your forehead.

“I hope that never goes away.” You giggled leaning into his embrace.

Soon, it was time to find out the sex of your child. No longer trying to hide his feelings, Izzy held your hand tightly through the entire experience, his right leg bouncing in uncontrolled anxiousness. His other free hand drummed on his knee absently as you both watched the ultrasound image.

“Well, congratulations mom and dad, you’ve got a healthy baby girl.” When you turned to look at Izzy’s reaction, you instantly grew emotional. His mouth was slightly open in amazement and you could see his eyes beginning to water. He stood from his seat and leaned in closer to get a look, shaking his head in disbelief before he leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“We’ve got a baby girl…Y/N, we’ve got a baby girl.” It was almost as though he needed to repeat it to get it into his own head, to enter this new reality.

“Now we’ve gotta think of a name,” you giggled.

Your pregnancy continued to go extremely well. You and Izzy argued over names constantly, in the middle of everyday conversation.

“Do we have eggs?” Izzy would ask you in the grocery store before absently adding. “How about Amelia?”

“We need more eggs. And a better name than Amelia.” Izzy rolled his eyes at you before he lifted a block of cheese from the assortment in front of you.

“How about Brie?” He asked dryly.

“I am not going to tell my baby girl her father named her after a block of cheese!” You told him, shoving his shoulder as he laughed.

Eventually, despite his trepidation, he decided to reach out to his former band members and let them know the latest news in your lives. They had nothing but love and support for the both of you and even pitched in collectively to send you guys an assortment of gifts; a new expensive car seat, flowers for you, and tons of new outfits and toys. The sweetest thing possibly, however, was a tiny onesie with a Guns N’ Roses logo. “You’re still family,” Axl insisted to the both of you. It was the exact reassurance Izzy needed.

“Babe, come here for a sec?” Izzy called you into his studio one night. “I want Ramona to hear something.” When you entered the room Izzy was sat, guitar in hand, and a gentle smile.

“Ramona?” You questioned.

“Did I say that out loud?” Izzy asked, making you laugh a little. “I’m not gonna lie, I really like that one—I’ve started calling her that in my head. So, just tell me how much you hate it and we can move on…”

“Hate it? I don’t hate it.” Izzy looked surprised and you giggled. “Maybe you caught me on a good day. No, really. I love it. It’s different.” Izzy’s returning smile forever reminded you of how lucky you were to have this life. “Now, surprise us.”

“It’s a new song I wrote for her,” the song he played on his guitar was a lulling soothing melody, his words soft and loving as he described in an incredible show of vulnerability his fears of not getting fatherhood right, but how he would always love and support her and do right by her. It made you cry. You could feel your baby kicking in your stomach and gasped through your tears, motioning for Izzy to place his hand to your belly. Soon, he was crying too.

The day your water broke was a day Izzy was not home, but recording with his new band, the JuJu Hounds, and you had to call him frantically, trying not to panic alone in your house.

“Shit! I’m on my way, I’ll be there in five minutes, Y/N! I’m right down the road!” You could hear the panic in his voice too.

Izzy made it in ten, screeching to a halt outside the front of your house where you were sat gripped with pain from a contraction.

“I thought you said five!” You complained as he hurried to help you into the car.

“Yeah, it would’ve been five but I got pulled over,” he explained. “He let me go though. Hopefully, it doesn’t happen on our way to the hospital, huh?” The force of which you gripped his hand made his face pale.

“You’re not stopping if it does. Drive, please.” Izzy was almost afraid to utter any words on the way to the hospital and would shoot worried glances at you every so often while gripping the wheel tight with both hands. You were sure he was dying to smoke the whole pack of cigarettes on him but had stopped smoking around you.

“Just in case I forget, I never want to have another baby with you.” You groaned. He chuckled nervously.

“Hopefully not with some other man either, right?” He grew silent again at the glare you shot him.

Izzy never left your side through it all and everything happened so fast. You barely noticed him through your pain, you barely noticed much of anything. After a grueling long afternoon and evening, you gave birth to your baby girl, Ramona Leann Isbell, at 4:36 AM.

While you did your best to recover, panting and feeling like you had nothing left to give, you watched Izzy take your newly wrapped baby girl into his arms. The way he held her gave away his inner fear, slightly shaking and with an overabundance of caution, as though she were a precious vase he was afraid of breaking. You watched his eyes, wide with wonder that quickly flooded with love as he let out a soft sigh of awe. This little girl already had him wrapped around her tiny finger.

“Hey, little one…welcome to the world. Daddy’s got you, daddy’s always got you. I’m right here…” he cooed gently, settling into a more confident position. He glanced over at you with the biggest smile in the world and you didn’t even realize until that moment you were crying. “Do you want to see mommy? Yeah? Let’s see mommy,” he brought you over and you sat up eagerly, gaining new strength, and held out your arms. Izzy gently cradled your baby into your arms and leaned beside you on the hospital bed, tucking your hair out of your face.

“I can’t believe we made her.” He marveled out loud to you, pressing his face next to your hair. “She’s perfect, just like you. I love you so much, Y/N. Thank you for giving me this incredible life.”

#stradlin sunday #izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin imagine #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #gnr #gnr imagine

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bubblytarts · 4 years

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Bendy and the Inky Musical - Part 1/5

And so it begins! Note that some stuff happens out of order, but that’s just to make the story move smoother, as it’s pretty hard to take a video game and turn it into a musical. Otherwise, here are the first six songs, taking us through all of Chapter One, and most of Chapter Two!

Set Us Free (Prologue) - Joey, Wally, Ensemble

The show begins with a single spotlight on Joey, far off to one side. He opens up with basically a short intro of the studio and Bendy.

However, Joey is quickly interrupted by another spotlight on the other side of the stage. Joey freezes in place. Under the other spotlight is Wally, who tells the audience that Joey talks too much, so he’s going to narrate the story.

The tempo (and creep factor) picks up as Wally (with backup from shadowy figures slowly moving on stage) sings about the studio going under, and how thirty years later, Joey is writing a letter.

Joey in fact writes the letter onstage, and hands it off to a figure just out of the spotlight. The figure seems to be wearing a mask, but the lights on the rest of the stage are dim, so it’s difficult to tell. The ensemble grows in intensity as the masked figure hands the letter off to what seems to be a wolf, who hands it to a woman, who hands it to a man with a boxy head, who hands it to another wolf, who hands it to a woman with a ponytail, who hands it to Wally. The ensemble separates and walk around the stage as Wally takes the letter upstage, handing it to one more figure.

Another spotlight turns on as Wally hands over the letter, revealing Henry.

Joey and Wally join the ensemble in wishing to be “Set Free” as Henry walks forward, the only one not singing, staring at the letter and not noticing the ensemble’s choreography around him. The song ends as Henry reaches the front of the stage, as everyone reaches out towards him.

The Good Old Days - Henry

(Think a much, MUCH happier Empty Chairs at Empty Tables; Les Mis)

The ensemble quickly leaves the stage, with Joey following after a moment. Wally makes himself comfortable sitting on the edge of the stage, and appears to take a nap.

Henry enters the studio, saying his iconic “Alright Joey, I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.” Henry quickly finds his old desk, and his line about his desk is the cue for the music to start.

It’s a short, melancholy song, but it is vital to the show, as it basically serves to fill in a bit of Henry’s personality and backstory with Joey before it all starts to go bad. Most of the song is about Henry not regretting leaving, but wishing that he knew what happened to all his friends at the studio.

Henry actually doesn’t get to finish the song, as he trails off the ending note when he comes across the Ink Machine.

The Ink Machine - Wally, Ensemble

(Think Build Our Machine, but ominous)

At Henry’s line about the Ink Machine, Wally wakes up from his nap and yells, “That there’s the Ink Machine! The cause of all our problems!”

A chorus of Lost Ones back up Wally as he gets Henry’s attention. Henry sees Wally, and to some degree recognizes him, as he does greet Wally by name, but doesn’t seem to quite get the connection that the janitor shouldn’t be here. (The perks of being the narrator, no one questions you!)

With the prompting from the singers, Henry gathers the six items, and activates the Ink Machine.

Once the Machine is activated, the Lost Ones immediately run away in fear, and Wally follows them, looking less fearful. Henry seems pleased with his work, and turns around to ask Wally about it, only to see that Wally and the ensemble have disappeared.

Dreams Come True - Joey

(Think a no-less psychotic, but slightly more encouraging You’ll Be Back; Hamilton)

The next song does not start until after the end of Chapter One. Henry will get scared by the Ink Demon, and then will fall through the floor, where he will quickly grab the axe and step on the pentagram, leading to a blackout on stage.

Joey will then take center stage, and sing an uplifting, happy song about how dreaming can accomplish anything, and he’s willing to do anything to make dreams come true!

It’s meant to be Joey’s public persona, so he’s over the top happy and excited, and the audience should truly feel like this is a person they can trust with their dreams (even though they really can’t, of course).

A Pencil and a Dream - Sammy, Joey, Wally, Norman, Jack, Ensemble

After Henry wakes up, he continues into the Music Department. This song is basically a quick way of introducing some more characters in the past, and how they interact while having Henry complete the game puzzles in the present.

Sammy, Joey, Norman, and Jack all have various small solo speaking parts, where they interrupt the singing of the ensemble to talk about their audio logs. The topics coincide with what Henry is doing in present day, such as Sammy yelling at Wally for losing his keys again, followed by Henry finding them in the garbage.

Wally also keeps trying to warn Henry about something, but keeps being too late on account of the flashbacks interrupting him (example being Wally trying to tell Henry about Jack hanging out in the sewers, only to get interrupted by past Jack, and by the time Wally gets to Henry he already got the valve).

Song of Salvation - Sammy, Henry

After opening up Sammy’s sanctuary, Henry finds an audio log from Sammy. It’s actually Sammy’s “Can I Get An Amen” tape, although it’s been modified to work as a song.

As the song continues to get creepier, Henry starts to sing overtop of him, wondering aloud what happened to make a respectable person like Sammy go crazy. Henry wonders what became of his old friend.

Henry stops singing when he realizes that the tape has stopped playing, but the song is still going. Behind Henry, Sammy is stalking towards him with the dustpan.

Henry begins to back up from the tape in fear, looking around but not seeing Sammy until he is hit over the head and mostly knocked out.

Sammy sings the last line of the song softly, and asks the barely conscious Henry, who is reaching towards him, “Can I Get An Amen?” Before Henry’s arm drops and another blackout on stage.

#I’m having a ton of fun with this #bendy and the inky musical #bendy and the ink machine #batim #joey drew #wally franks #henry stein #sammy lawrence #norman polk #jack fain

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youarejesting · 4 years

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Quarantine.28

[Masterlist] Editor: [Yoongisauce] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers Genres: friendship, drama, romance, Slowest of burns until the anticipation kills us all… Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1k Announcement: This chapter hints on interconnecting relationships within the group and also some other things that the boys are working through. Let me tell you Jin who considered himself a coward is really stepping up. He is scared but he is doing his best and JK. Jungkook is putting his thoughts and feelings first he isn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is figuring out he doesn’t have to do everything.

[Part 1] [Part 27] [Part 29] [Tag Yourself Here]

Jungkook nodded to the captain in agreement to continue back to the building. He knew you passed them. Your route was quicker and more direct. You had to have passed them. He was sure of it and everyone was probably worried sick because he hadn't returned.

They set out on foot. Still trying to send a message on the walkie but nothing was coming back through. Unsure of what was happening or what was left to return to because all they had was radio silence.

The group was frozen. The tension in the air as thick as the fog churning in the streets outside. Transmissions had stopped and they had no way of knowing who made it or not. All they could do was wait and hope. The clock ticked louder and louder, striking through the silence until it became unbearable.

Jimin made eye contact with Hoseok who gave a small smile building up the courage to break the tension. “Would anyone like something to drink while we wait, a cup of tea or water?”

Yoongi pushed off the couch and stormed out of the room, heading to the sanctuary that was his studio. With every second that passed and each step he took his eyes stung with unshed tears.

A light pink color flushed his cheeks and nose while a burning sensation swelled in his throat. A sob ripping from his chest as he slammed the door to his haven. Yoongi sank onto the floor pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if it would stop the tears from escaping.

All it took was one message from Hoseok, checking if he was okay, had him screaming, “F*CK!” as he chucked his phone across the room

He hated feeling out of control. He felt this so often growing up and he swore he would never let himself feel this way. But you had burrowed into his heart and now he cared about you. You were worse than the boys, at least it was his decision to fall in love with them. Who wouldn’t fall for them. They were so kind and Yoongi was never one for appearances. He fell in love with who someone was and not for the way they dressed, not for their race, and least of all their gender.

Yoongi needed to do something. He began tampering with his equipment, trying to make his stereo pick up a signal, anything. At the sound of Jungkook’s voice over the radio Yoongi felt himself relax, even only a little.

Taehyung and Jimin tried to comfort each other, sitting side by side on the couch. The two held hands whispering as Hoseok left the room after Yoongi. He decided not to leave Yoongi alone in this time of need. Namjoon stared at the two walkie talkies on the coffee table wondering what he was supposed to do.

“Guys, I am going to wait downstairs,” Thomas breathed heavily, feeling almost claustrophobic. “Text me if anything comes up.”

They watched Thomas leave, his eyes dull seeming so lost. Namjoon heard a tiny whimper across the room. Looking over, he saw Taehyung and Jimin sniffling and staring at the map left open on Yoongi’s computer. All the red X’s littering the map.

Namjoon felt his heart sink. The boys shared a special bond, like ribbons connecting them to one another, drawing them close. The ribbons delicately intertwining them were tangled together. Right now, with the members separated, the ribbons twisted and taut, only entangling them closer than ever.

“Come here.”

Namjoon held his hands out in invitation. The two practically ran into his grasp. Their tear-stained faces turned red. He held them for a few minutes, holding their heads against his chest. Taehyung wrapped his arms around his waist, while Jimin curled up into an impossibly tiny cute ball. His little fingers curling into fists to try and rub away the tears.

Yoongi was in the middle of setting up his microphone, ready to reply to Jungkook who was talking out of breath into the walkie. The studio doorbell rang pulling him out of his concentration and out of his chair.

Hoseok noticed evidence of the introvert’s recent emotional endeavor alongside an unusual lively expression. Yoongi always felt grumpy and embarrassed after getting emotional, usually refusing to see anyone for a while. Yet here he was seeming lost in thought and almost relieved.

“Are you okay? Can I come in?”

Yoongi pulled him inside impatiently, shutting the door and heading to his desk where he had set up the receiver.

“This is Group Jk, I repeat this is Group Jk, we are heading back even though you can’t hear me.”

Jungkook’s voice cut through the room and Hoseok, who had just settled down awkwardly on the leather couch, flew out of his seat and across the room.

“That’s Jk!” Hoseok couldn’t help the feeling rushing over him as he looked down at Yoongi.

He grabbed the pale rapper by the cheeks and pressed a celebratory kiss to his lips. Hoseok pulled away watching Yoongi raise his fist to his lips and cough in an attempt to break the sudden tension.

Pushing the button on the microphone with long thin fingers, Yoongi spoke as calmly as he could into the microphone, not wanting to appear flustered by either the situation or the kiss.

“Group Jk do you copy?”

“Hyung!” Jungkook’s voice lost all its weariness and became as bright as Hoseok’s had been to hear the maknae’s voice.

“Where are you?”

Hoseok all but took over and shouted into the microphone. He nudged Yoongi’s leg and gestured to move away from the desk. When he did, Hoseok sat down and tugged the thinner man onto his lap.

“We are just at the end of the street now. We will be there in a second, don’t worry,” Jungkook paused catching his breath before getting excited again, “Tell y/n that we are going to have celebratory ramyeon in the basement tonight. Together as a group. No exceptions.”

Hoseok reacted, reaching for the mic but long fingers grasped his wrist preventing him from replying.

“Don’t tell him. Otherwise he won’t come back.”

“Hobi Hyung? Yoongi Hyung? It must have cut out again?”

Seokjin heard the men speak about leaving more than an hour and a half ago. It had been quiet since. He looked down at your form drenched in a cold sweat and shaking in his arms.

[Part 1] [Part 27] [Part 29] [Tag Yourself Here]

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 4 years

Text

Queer Eye for the Cap Guy ~ Part 7

A/N: Hi my lovelies! This story is back too!!! I’m really excited So just as an FYI there will be one more main part of this story. and then I have 2-3 “off screen scenes “ that will come out after the story is completed. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Steve gets to see his new place and the Fab Five get to see the new Steve

Rating: T

Warnings; Language, Manly tears, feels,

Word Count: 3042

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Fab Five Reveal (Retired, Refreshed, and Ready to Live)

“Are you ready to see the new space?” Karamo asked as they pulled up to the building.

“Yes, I can’t wait to see what Bobby did with the place.”

“Well, we’re here.”

Karamo honked before hopping out of the truck and leading Steve to the side door.

“Boys, we’re here,” Karamo called as he cracked open the door.

“Come on in!”

Steve stopped dead in his tracks as he crossed the threshold.

“Oh my god. Holy – wow.”

He was vaguely aware of the fab five gushing over his new look, but he honestly tuned out as his eyes darted around the room, first, tactically and then in awe.

The first floor was now sectioned off into two areas, separated by a clear fiberglass wall. The side closest to the front of the building was set up as a garage. His bike had already been parked inside and there was a very professional tool chest on wheels set next to a plush couch. He spied a tag from Tony on the tool chest and smiled.

“Holy shit.”

“You said that you loved working on your bike, and I wanted to leave you enough space if you wanted to work on something larger like a car, but I also wanted to do something really fun,” Bobby explained as they walked past the divider.

The other half of the floor had a ton of workout equipment and even a basketball hoop.

“This is great. I had no idea what to do with this space. Just wow. I’ll never get Bucky and Sam out of here,” he chuckled.

“Well that I can’t help you with. Let’s go see some more.”

Bobby led the way up the stairs to the partial second floor. The room had floor to ceiling bookshelves on one wall and a large mahogany desk, with a leather chair.

“So I decided to make this room your office because it gives you a space where you can work, but when you’re done the papers can stay here and it won’t bleed into the rest of your life.”

Steve nodded absently as he admired the art on the wall. Two large charcoal sketches – one of Brooklyn from his youth and one of Brooklyn when he came out of the ice - flanked the paned window.

“This is awesome. And I like that it’s separate. I’m not the best at balance.”

“I totally get that. It’s really hard, but this will help.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, let’s go see the rest of your space.”

They took the elevator up to the third floor and this time Steve’s knees fully buckled.

“Are you sure this is the same building?” he asked sounding breathless.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re amazing. This is amazing. Thank you so much. I’m not sure how but, you figured out exactly what I wanted.”

“That’s what I’m here for. I wanted this whole floor to be open concept. That way people can be watching TV or cooking or eating and still all be together.”

“Perfect,” Steve mumbled, unable to say much more than the simple words of praise.

Bobby gently guided him to the right towards the kitchen.

“So, here we’ve got tons of prep space, and you can eat at the counter if it’s just you or it’s something casual. But I also wanted you to have a full dining table and I figured between all of the combinations of Avengers dinner parties could get pretty large so this expands to fit twenty.”

“I guess I’m hosting Thanksgiving this year.”

“You certainly could.”

Moving further into the room, Steve ran his fingers along the smooth mahogany of the billiards table.

“I know we didn’t talk about it, but Bucky and Sam mentioned that you’re a fan of pool so we got you this.”

“It’s beautiful. And I love pool.”

His attention was drawn to the artwork on the wall.

“I love that you got Bucky’s photos properly framed.”

“As we were packing up your old place, I noticed that you didn’t have a ton of things that were you, but you lots of things from your friends and I really wanted to honor that.”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bobby replied warmly.

After a moment, Steve turned his focus to the living room.

“I love this sectional. It’s exactly what I envisioned.”

“Good, and we also have –“

“The wingback chair,” Steve breathed. “This is just like the one my ma had.” He sniffed and swiped at his eyes. “How did you know exactly what to get?”

“Well you gave a pretty good description, but I also asked Bucky to weigh in on the final decision.”

“It’s perfect.”

“Have a seat.”

Steve sank down into the soft leather, wriggling slightly to get comfortable; his fingers knotted in the heavy knit afghan that adorned it. Even that felt familiar.

“It’s just like I remembered it.”

He savored the moment, shutting his eyes and letting himself feel like a little kid again. If he shed a tear or two Bobby didn’t comment. When his eyes snapped open the focused on the wall opposite him which was littered in pictures.

“Are those…”

He was on his feet in moments, striding over to inspect them. All of the pictures were black and white. About three quarters of them were modern pictures taken at parties and hangouts. Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Y/n were featured heavily. But a few photos were of the Howlies and Peggy which was lovely but not completely surprising. What Steve was flabbergasted by were the photos of him and Bucky as children and of him with his mother.

“How could you possibly have found these?” His voice shook and he was crying hard enough that he could not see Bobby let alone the pictures clearly anymore.

“When you went in the ice, the government appropriated all of your belongings. Most of it got sent to the archives of the Smithsonian. Y/n and I worked with a really lovely historian there and got them released.”

“Y/n?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. She wanted to do this and actually she’d already started the ball rolling, I just helped integrate into the place. She flew to D.C. a couple days ago to get the photographs.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Steve sniffled, and reaching out to hug Bobby, who despite being smaller was clearly supporting the super soldier. “I haven’t seen a photo of my mom since I went in the ice. I thought they were all lost. This is everything.”

Bobby held tight as Steve’s body shuddered as he cried before finally gathering his composure and taking a deep but shaky breath.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but Bobby was already shaking his head.

“Don’t ever apologize for crying. It’s completely natural. Now are you ready to see more?”

“I’m not sure my heart can take much more, but let’s do it,” he agreed blowing out a long breath.

The master bedroom took up half of the top floor and was decorated in blues and grays. It was perfectly calm and Steve was already looking forward to spending some time just relaxing.

“Any guesses on what’s through that door?” Bobby teased.

“Not a clue,” Steve admitted.

His normal battlefield evaluation skills were lacking today.

“Go and see.”

“NO WAY!” he practically shouted as he opened the door stepped into his new art studio.

He understood now why you exited the elevator into the bedroom. The studio had windows on three sides, guaranteeing him not only the best light but the best views.

“I was planning to set an easel up in the garage.”

“Well, I think this is a lot better.”

“Oh tons.”

“And if you want to enjoy this view from your bed, you can. The walls are partition walls and you can push them off to the side whenever you want.”

“That’s brilliant. I honestly, I know I keep saying the same things over and over again, but I’m completely speechless. I had no idea what to do with any of these spaces, let alone the whole building top to bottom. If I had it my way, I probably would have been living out of boxes with wooden crate furniture. But this is… home. I haven’t felt at home maybe ever. And to walk into this space and have it feel like me here and now is just so unbelievable. Thank you,” Steve gushed, hugging him again, although without sagging into him this time.

“I’m so glad that you feel this way and that I was able to do this for you. Everyone deserves to feel that their space is theirs. And that it suits them. You deserve a place where you want to come back to and that you want to share with others.”

“And I do.”

“Good. Now, I have one last surprise for you.”

“How can there possibly be more,” Steve laughed in an exhale.

“Well, like you said, I redesigned the whole building from the bottom up. And there’s more level above us.”

“You didn’t.”

Bobby merely pointed and gestured for Steve to lead the way. The super soldier took the steps in three bounds and burst onto the roof.

“Oh my god.”

The roof had been transformed. The lone folding chair was gone, replaced with black wicker patio set with a loveseat, chairs, and a coffee table. There was also greenery along the whole perimeter, and lanterns.

“I know you love it up here. So I wanted to make sure it was –“

“A sanctuary,” he completed.

“Exactly.”

Steve was reluctant to leave his little slice of heaven, but Jonathan brooked no room for arguing.

“So, welcome to your beautiful master bathroom which we have set for all of your grooming needs.”

“Great. Because I’d have no idea what to buy.”

“I gotchu, henny,” he opened the drawer next to the sink to reveal several styling tools. “So we’ve got your razor with guards for keeping your beard nice and neat as well as a hair dryer. You probably won’t use that day to day but if you want to you can. I showed you how to work with that.”

“Yes, the twist and pull technique.”

“Exactly. And we’ve got a beard oil just to keep it soft. So two drops after your shower.”

“Got it.”

And I got you a great pomade. So, take a little in your hands and you’re going to work it in. Once you can feel it grab onto your hair, you can take a little bit of a lighter touch and once your hair is basically where you want leave it.”

Steve fiddled with his hair for a few moments before he was satisfied.

“Perfect,” Jonathan announced. “You are such a dreamboat.”

The super soldier’s cheeks turned pink.

“Seriously. You are so radiant from the inside out. So gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“And I have one last thing to remind you about. Sunscreen. I don’t care if you’re a super soldier. Sunscreen. Every day. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve chuckled.

“Good.”

“Can I steal him?” Tan asked as he popped into the bathroom?

“Absolutely. He’s all yours.”

“Come on, handsome. Let’s get you into some outfits.”

“Let’s do it.”

Tan led him over to the large closet.

“So we’ve organized your closet in a way that makes sense for you, which means casual to formal. So we’ve got your pants, jeans, khakis, dress pants. And then your shirts, t-shirts, short sleeve shirts, long sleeve shirts, sweaters, jackets. And suits.”

“Makes sense. I’ll just have to move some stuff to make room for my sweatpants,” Steve commented with a grin.

“I know that you’re a super soldier but if you go around wearing sweatpants after all this I will throw down with you.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Tan glared slightly before reaching past him for a garment bag.

“Now, tomorrow is a formal event, so I got you a tux.”

“Wow. This is awesome. And definitely the nicest thing I’ve ever owned,” he admitted when Tan opened the bag. “I love the color.”

“I thought you would. It’s gonna look killer.”

The fab five were sitting on the couch talking when the elevators opened. They’d been strictly instructed not to peek.

“Are you ready for the first look, boys.”

“Yes!”

“Well see for yourself.”

Steve stood with his hand in the pocket of a dark blue suit which fit him perfectly. He looked like a movie star.

“OH MY GOSH. YOU LOOK AMAZING,” Karamo bellowed.

Jonathan let out a high pitched squeal.

“Tan, that suit is the perfect fit.”

As he walked closer, they couldn’t help but notice the confidence in his stride.

“How do you feel?” Antoni asked.

“I feel great. I think this is the first time I’ve worn a suit and not felt like a monkey in a tie.”

“You look fantastic.”

“I love the color.”

“So we also got him a gray and a black suit so he has them for important events. Press conferences, meetings.”

“Announcing a campaign for presidency,” Jonathan suggested.

“I’d vote for you,” Karamo agreed.

“I don’t see that in the cards,” Steve laughed.

“You never know.”

When the elevator opened the second time, Steve didn’t hesitate before striding over to the couch in dark jeans, a white Henley, and a bluish gray cardigan.

“Yassssssss.”

“I love this entire look.”

“Do you love it?”

One look at the broad grin on his face gave the answer.

“Oh completely. It’s so comfortable, but I feel really good about how I look as well.”

“I wasn’t expecting the cardigan,” Bobby commented.

“Tan had to make sure I looked my age,” Steve joked.

“I told you I’d get you a cardigan that makes sense for you.”

“And you did. It’s nice, I don’t feel restricted at all.”

“Good. And if you do want a going out look, just slide off the cardigan and slip on this jacket.”

“Yas. Sign me up.”

“You look so cool.”

“I kept your classic brown leather jacket. This is just a more modern option.”

“I love a collarless leather jacket.”

“And the black is so sleek. You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, are you ready to cook?” Antoni asked clapping his hands together.

“Yes.”

He followed the food and wine expert towards the kitchen after slipping off the leather jacket.

“So Bobby and I designed the space with a lot of function and a little bit of fun. So we got you a pasta maker, I already have the lasagna attachment on. And this slab of the counter is for chocolate work so you can temper it and make those chocolate curls or anything else that you want. Today we’re going to use it to chop up some chocolate to make, any guesses?”

He looked at the bowl of ice on the counter and the chocolate and shrugged.

“Not a clue.”

“Chocolate mousse.”

Steve blanched.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’d hate to ruin my nice new kitchen.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything. This recipe only has two ingredients and requires no appliances.”

“Alright. I’m trusting you.”

“Good choice. So what you need is chocolate, and you want really high quality chocolate because that’s the only ingredient you’re going to taste. Because the other ingredient is water?”

“Really?” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“Yep. So what we’re going to do is chop up our chocolate – which Martin was kind enough to provide for us - into nice quarter sized chunks and add it to hot water and whisk until it’s melted. Once it is, we move it into the ice and whisk until it sets.”

After showing him how to whisk properly, Antoni had him take over.

“One of the other reasons I like this recipe is because if you over whip it, all you do is warm it up again and whisk again. Whereas with a cream based recipe, there’s no coming back. Alright, that looks just about perfect.”

Antoni spooned some mousse into ramekins and handed one to Steve.

“Bon appetite.”

Steve groaned when he tasted it.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s good right?”

“So good.”

“And it’s super easy to make.”

“This is dangerous,” he chuckled after another large bite. “Y/n’s gonna have me making this every other day.”

Antoni simply grinned in response.

“Come sit with us,” Karamo called from where he was sitting.

“Yes, come snuggle yourself right in here.”

Steve settled in the center of the sectional between Karamo and Jonathan.

“So, when we started the week, you told me that you wanted to find a future. Do you feel like you’ve done that?”

He was already nodding.

“Yeah, I do. Since I came out of the ice, I’ve been stuck between two worlds. I was either living in the past or trying to just throw myself into the future. I never felt like I could move on because I was mourning that part of my life. But now, you’ve helped me see that I have a lot to live for now. Not just the fight. And you’ve also given me connections to the past I thought were long gone, so now I feel like I can still love it and remember it without living it. I’m really excited to discover more about what I love.”

“I’m so excited for you to get to know you, because we have all fallen in love with you.”

“You are such a kind, genuine, good man, and you are beautiful inside and out,” Jonathan reached out holding his hand.

“I hope you see the man the rest of us see.”

“I’m starting to. And I just want to say thank you. At the beginning of the week I never expected to be able to be so open with strangers and really explore who I am. Thank you for coming here to help me.”

“You are so welcome. Now unfortunately, it is time for us to go.”

“I’m going to miss you all,” Steve admitted.

“We’ll miss you too. Enjoy everything. You deserve it.”

“Come on. Group hug.”

They crowded in around him before giving him each individual hugs and leaving Steve in his new home to get ready for his dinner party. He smiled to himself as he looked around.

“Home,” he whispered.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Reference pic for Steve’s casual look here (top left) I hope that you enjoyed this part. I really loved writing it, and I won’t lie I cried a couple times. Thanks so much for reading!

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#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers Fic #Queer Eye for the Cap Guy #Cap Gets Queer Eyed #Part 7

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