#I did not do this on marker paper and it is kinda obvious but oh well 😅

[libr-0-cubicularist]

I think Four should get to be pretty. As a treat.

Thank you @zarvasace for the ask, I always want to draw the boy <3

[parkerliciouspeter]

Obvious

Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

requests are open!

word count: 2091 (long one 🥴)

warnings: swearing lmao

a/n: listen to obvious by taylor trensch from the dear evan hansen 😏🤏

masterlist!

Peter walked in his first class, rubbing his eyes. He only got an hour of sleep last night because of some burglars he chased for 18 blocks after they stole a few bags worth of jewelry.

“Glad to see that you’ve finally joined us, Mr. Parker.” His literature teacher gave him a tight lipped smile and gestured to the seat beside you. “You may take a seat beside Ms. Y/L/N, here.”

You gave him a nod. You were as sleepy as him, because you were the one who helped him catch the said burglars. But he didn’t know that. Because you did an actually decent job at making sure your identity was always concealed.

“Suh, Parker.”

He smiles and puts his head on his desk, mind drifting off to the masked hero who helped him yesterday. She was definitely a she, but no matter how many times he asked for her name she stayed silent.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, Peter?” You yawn, picking up a white marker.

He snaps out of his daze and quickly opens his notebook, hastily copying the notes on the blackboard. “N-nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow and lifted your legs on the seat so that your knees touched your chest, and scribbled a few stars on the bottoms of your jeans. He let his gaze linger on you for a while, before looking back up at the board.

When you get bored you draw stars on the cuffs of your jeans

He watched as you paid no attention to the teacher, even flipping open a magazine and scrawling on a few pages. Fidgeting with the necklace strung around your neck, you sucked on the end of a ballpen as you read the questions in a quiz that was sandwiched in the magazine you were reading. Peter swore he’d seen that necklace before, though he doesn’t know where-

“Still with us, Ms. Y/L/N?”

You nod absently.

“If so, what year did Shakespeare write-“

“Romeo and Juliet? He wrote it during 1591 to 1596, no one’s sure. Honestly, it kinda sucks. All the guys are either drunk or misogynistic and the girls exist to have-“ you let out a horribly faked cough that sounded suspiciously like “sex,” earning a few laughs from your classmates. Peter turned his head at you. You hadn’t looked up from your magazine.

You still fill out the quizzes you find in those teen magazines

At lunch, while Ned was ogling over Liz, he saw you out of the corner of his eye, messing around with your friends. He smiled to himself, he always found it so amazing that you could ignore the whole world around you, shut out the voices that tell you that you can’t do what you want.

And you dance like nobody's there

Awkward and perfect

You don't even care

“Dude, did you see the news yesterday? There was this huge robbery, and obviously Spider-man was there, but there was another guy there too.”

He turned his head to Ned so quickly, his neck cricked. “U-uh, yeah, I saw.”

“Yeah, people think she’s a she, but I’m not so sure,”

Peter bit on his lip, and he continued to wonder who was behind the mask.

At the end of the day, you skipped towards Peter in the hall, shaking him from behind. “PETER!”

“aAAaAh-“

You burst out laughing, eventually earning some badly kept in giggles from him. “Oh my god, your reaction was priceless!”

He scrunched his lips up to hide a smile, and punched you in the shoulder playfully. However, he realized that he had heard it before. Obviously, he had, because you were his best friend, but he could’ve sworn he’d heard it yesterday, even though you hadn’t hung out at that time.

“Peter? Earth to Peter?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, h-hi.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shove a small paper bag in his arms. “Heard that May hasn’t been doin’ well lately, and she’s been having to do double shifts, so I hope this’ll help.”

Before Peter could reply, you were already skipping away. He opened the bag to find a wad of cash along with a small piece of paper.

Hey May!

Don’t forget to take breaks and take care of yourself!

Hope this takes care of things you needed to settle after Ben’s passing.

Love, Y/N ♡︎

He stared at the note in awe, and quickly counted the cash. A thousand dollars. You had given him a thousand dollars. He watched your figure skip away in awe, in awe of how someone could give so much even if they didn’t have a lot in the first place.

But that’s just you, and he should be used to it by now.

Something courageous, amazing, contagious

And kind

All combined

He heads to Delmar’s Deli-Grocery and picks up a few sandwiches, including one he’s planning to give to you as a thank-you.

Suddenly, the TV behind the counter switched to a news report.

“We’ve just received a report of a car chase near Midtown School of Science and Technology, four men have reportedly committed a grand theft auto and are currently being chased by our new unnamed superhero…” The news reporter droned on about the mysterious hero. Peter quickly snatched the sandwiches and placed some money on the counter. “Keep the change!” he yelled, while running out the door to the alleyway to change into his suit.

“About time you arrived, Spider-boy.” You sneered, wiping the blood off your busted lip.

He squinted, and proceeded to web up the criminals, but. He noticed that they had mild, fresh burn marks around their wrists.

“You gonna ogle at the bad guys, or actually catch them?”

The both of them didn’t say another word to each other, and decided to fight these criminals quietly. While Peter had knocked one out, his gaze flickered to the small silver chain necklace swinging around your neck. He could’ve sworn he had seen it before…

A swift punch in the gut disrupted his train of thought, the guy he had knocked out took advantage of Peter being distracted. The smell of smoke filled Peter’s lungs. Without warning, the thief started aggressively kicking, in an attempt to put out a fire that was rising up his leg.

He looked at the masked hero’s outstretched arm. “What? You gonna say thank you?”

Rolling his eyes, he webbed up his legs to put out the flame. “Rule number one of being a superhero, no one gets hurt. Not even the ones who commit crime.”

“Oh, come on, can’t I have a bit of fun?”

The two of you had finally caught the thieves, the red and blue lights reflecting off your black suit. You looked at the time, it was five-fifty, your parents expected you home by six. Ignoring the news reporters you looked at Spider-man, with a smug smile on your face. “Watch yourself, bug-boy. I might not always be there to be your knight and shining armor, or whatever.”

He watched you leap away into the distance. Then it hit him.

Washington D.C; After the incident in the tower.

“Peter!” You spotted your best friend and sprinted towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He turned red and did the same.

You pulled away, tear stains on your cheeks. You started to punch him everywhere you could reach. “You - are - such - an - ASS!” You cried, hitting him in between every word. Eventually, your voice broke and tears spilled out your eyes, head on his chest. He didn’t know that his disappearance would affect you so much, you’ve always acted like you thought he was annoying.

Wiping your eyes, you looked.. apologetic? No. Sincere. “I’m sorry Peter, I shouldn’t be mad. Ned said you weren’t feeling well this morning, I know how nervous you must be about the Decathlon.”

“N-no, no, you have every right to be. I’m sorry for not going.”

“I managed to calm Liz down and convince her to not get too mad at you.” You let out a broken chuckle. “You better watch yourself, Parker. I might not always be there to be your knight and shining armor, y’know.”

He mentally facepalmed himself. It was so blatantly obvious.

Why go stating the obvious?

It's so painfully obvious

How could you miss

Something that's this plain to see?

When it's glaring, and staring right at you

So obviously

Peter had quickly changed into his normal clothes but kept his mask on, and swung so quickly that he had almost hit a building on his way to your apartment. After a while, he landed on your balcony and knocked on your window.

You turned around, expecting to see Peter but was instead greeted by a pair of large white eyes on a red mask.

“aAAAUGH!” You threw a book at the window but instead it bounced on the glass and hit you in the forehead. “Fu- ouch…” You opened your window cautiously.

Peter held in a laugh and pulled his mask off. Your jaw dropped open and you were about to yell something when he quickly clamped a hand on your mouth and jumped into your bedroom. “Dude, please shut up and don’t yell my name or I’m gonna hurt you.” His panicked face turned into a sweet smile and he released his hand.

“Wha- how- how long have you been- y-you know what? W-why didn’t you tell me?! I can’t believe you didn’t-“

Peter quickly shushed you and played with your fingers as he talked. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I’m really really really super sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier, I was just scared that you’d get hurt by bad people if they knew we were friends and-“

“Peter.” You whispered, a serious and stern look on your face. “Get to the fucking point, please.”

He froze for a second, and swallowed. “Y-y/n, were you, um, the- the girl who was fighting- uh- earlier? Near school? Just a while ago?

Your serious face doesn’t waver. “I- I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”

“Y/n, I’m pretty sure it’s you. You-“ He played with your necklace. “You were wearing the same necklace.”

You become flustered, and a few tears streamed down your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened, I just- got really mad and exploded the microwave, then it got worse and worse and-“ Peter cuts you off by wrapping his arms around your body, rubbing circles on your back soothingly. The entire room was silent except for your deep gasps for air. Once you’ve calmed down, he continues to play with your hair.

“P-Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“I have a feeling that that wasn’t the only reason why you came here.”

Peter was glad that you couldn’t see his reddening face. “Wh-what do you mean?”

You stayed silent—he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Just so you know, I really like you, Peter. Ever since we met.” You pull away, eyes widening. “Please tell me you didn’t come here for some help with the homework, or this would’ve been very awkward.”

He laughed, and leaned in, hesitating. “C-can I kiss you?”

You smirked and kissed him hard, letting out all of your bottled-up emotions. You’ve been doing a pretty decent job of pretending you don’t like him, but there’s something about him that just makes you snap.

You pull away, the both of you are so close that your noses are just barely touching.

“I- I love you, Y/N.”

“I do too.”

You were just about to lean into him for another kiss when a loud and rhythmic knock banged on your door.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly pushed Peter off your bed and shoved him in your closet. “Shit, that’s my brother, hide!”

Your little brother opens the door, hitting it on the wall. “Y/N!! Oscar peed on my shoes again!”

“Fu- aargh, I forgot to walk him today, sorry, Tyler.” He wiped his nose exaggeratedly and stomped out the room.

Once you’ve made sure that he was gone, you closed the door and locked it, just to make sure there wouldn’t be any unwanted visitors coming in your room.

Peter pushed the door open slightly. “Is he gone?”

You laughed and gave him a thumbs up. He smiled and tackled you onto your bed, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “M’sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. We could’ve had weeks. Years, even.”

Tugging on his hair, you planted a kiss on his knuckles. “It’s alright, Pete. What matters is that we’re together now.”

[romantic-barnes]

cheap wine & a paper due at 9

Pairings: professor!steve x student!reader

Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you out of the blue, you get swept up by Steve. The Adonis of a man, the measure of beauty, a perfect man from head to toe. But there’s a teeny, tiny problem neither of you know of just yet. Nothing is more exciting than a new challenge. For you it’s college, for Steve it’s to keep his dick in his pants.  

Warnings: none really other than some swear words

A/N: this is just an idea, it depends on whether or not people want me to turn this into a series. if there’s any interest in me doing so then let me know and I will continue this as soon as I finish my series unintended. a thank you to @nsfwsebbie for the title help, love you lots! 

dividers by @whimsicalrogers​

Your first year at college, the first year marking another milestone in your life you hoped to go without bumps all across the road. A journey your parents pushed you to take, begging you to focus in school to be able to get into college. They begged, you obeyed. 

There wasn’t much joy in your eyes when you moved into your apartment outside of campus. If you had the choice you would be off to a different state, but your parents thought it better you stayed in Boston. You knew why. 

A turn of a corner and you were close to your first lecture of the year. You know the professor. An old soul and and even older person. Professor Klein is one of your parents family friends, at least that’s what they claim. The only time they see him or any of their oh so important friends is at the country club. 

With a gentle push the door opened and you stepped into the hall. The majority of the seats already taken, leaving you to take one of the seats at the front. That way you won’t need to squint to look at the writing. You justified the unfortunate choice of seat pushed upon you, you’d rather not be so obvious to the professor. 

A few minutes pass and you laid your equipment out in front of you, notebook, laptop and a pen. Your parents pushed you to chose an ipad, but you scrunched your nose at the thought of writing on glass with a plastic pen. Not that you’re technologically inept, you just prefer typing. 

A look to your watch and the door swung open.. “Welcome everyone!” A cheery voice echoed through the room, the students chatter dying down. Your head shot up looking at the man that walked into the hall and instead of old, wrinkly professor Klein, Steve walked in.

You stood waiting on your boyfriend Joe in front of the bar. Ten minutes past eight. Joe still wasn’t there. You huffed, shifting your weight on your right foot as the other started to go numb. If you had known that he would be this late, you would’ve worn flats.

After twenty minutes, he finally stepped out of a cab, giving you a chased kiss and a half assed apology. 

Inside, both of you sat down at one of the tables ordering a bottle of wine for two. This was both a goodbye drink and also your birthday gift from Joe. 

“How excited are you, finally going to college?” Joe picked up his glass, smiling.

“Well, I am excited, but I’m trying not to think about it too much y’know? Wanna enjoy the rest of my summer.”

“Got it.” Joe leaned back into his seat and you tilted your head.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“Look, babe.” Joe took your hands in his. “This is difficult for me, believe me, but I feel like with me going to LA and you staying here in Boston there’s just no way that this could work out.”

You stared at him and laughed slightly. He can’t be serious, can he? “What are you saying, Joe?”

“What I’m saying is, that I think it’s best we go our separate ways, do our own thing, figure ourselves out. We got so much ahead of us, darling. So many opportunity’s-”

“Wait-” you cut him off, sliding your hands from his grasp, “you’re breaking up with me not only because you think we can’t have a long distance relationship, but on top of that on my birthday?” You laughed sarcastically, in disbelieve of what your boyfriend - or ex-boyfriend - just said.

“It’s not you it’s-”

“You, I know.”

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Joe stood up and you furrowed your brows. He placed some money on the table, patting your shoulder before he left. You sat there in disbelieve, staring at his unfinished glass of wine. This is the end of your five year relationship. A cheap wine and the most terrible time to do so. 

“Excuse me, sorry. I don’t mean to impose, but I kinda just heard what happened.” 

You looked up at the guy speaking. Your jaw slacked at the sight of the man. Broad shoulders, tight muscles underneath his shirt, an ungodly good-looking man. He gestured to the seat that Joe sat in just minutes ago and you nodded. Surprise overtook your face, confused by the possibility of a man like him to want to sit with you. 

“Can I offer you a drink other than this?” He motioned to the bottle and you smiled. “Ok, just a sec.” He raised his hand calling for the attention of the bartender, pointing to his drink. His attention turned back to you with a warm smile lighting up his blue eyes. “I’m Steve by the way.” He chuckled, holding his hand out.

“Y/n.” You were truly speechless. You’ve never been speechless before, not even with Joe and you thought he was the perfect man. The one you would marry one day, but seeing him - yeah no - Joe can go to LA, you had this specimen of a man giving you attention.

“A real dick move to break up with you on your birthday, not gonna lie.” 

“I know, but if he didn’t you wouldn’t sit here now would you?” You had no idea where the confidence came from, but it was worth it seeing Steve all flustered and giggling. 

The bartender came and set a glass in front of you. “Thank’s Buck.” Steve said, before Bucky - the bartender - left to take his place behind the bar again. 

You took a sip from the drink and looked questionably at Steve. 

“It’s a Brookly Baby.” Steve raised his glass and so did you. “To you!”

Throughout the night Steve showed that despite his looks, the fact that he looks like the jock you and your girls giggle about in Highschool, he has a heart like no one else you’ve met before. 

You were practically begging for him to take you home, leaning forward putting what you could right in front of his eyes, giving him the look and batting your eyelashes at him. But Steve didn’t show that kind of affection - no - he walked you home. But it wouldn’t be the truth if you didn’t make out with him against your door. You had him right where you wanted him - needy. 

His dick practically pushed itself out of his pants and you were sure that if Steve didn’t pull back, panting and - there’s that damn giggle again - he would’ve ejaculated right in his pants. It felt good to be the one to have someone in a hold like that. To be the reason they cannot think straight. You exchanged numbers, a promise to see each other again.

That was the night you met Steve and now here you are. 

You sunk down on your seat, trying to make yourself as small as possible, but the fact that you’re sitting front row makes things a little more difficult. Steve’s eyes roam through the room, but his eyes don’t cross yours. 

Throughout the lecture you’re more so focused on keeping your head down, pretending on taking the most intricate notes of your life. Schwirles, different coloured markers, all just to not look directly at him. 

A look to your watch and you wanted to curse your way to hell. Still ten minutes left until you could drop out of college. 

Despite your vigorous note taking, you didn’t catch a word. Nothing you wrote down made any type of sense. Not at all. You focused on your breathing, sitting as still as possible to go unnoticed. 

“You, what’s your name?”

That you did understand. Blood rushed to your cheeks. You knew he was calling on you but you hoped he didn’t. A moment of silence confirmed your nightmare. He was waiting for you, the whole room was. 

Slowly you raised your head, pearls of sweat rolling down your back. The moment your eyes locked with Steve’s the world stood still. The man you were flirting with, showing off your cleavage and drunkenly made out was in fact your professor. 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck.”  

[ part one ]

[ taglist open ]

[hailey-with-an-i]

i made a lams one shot a while ago and i figured i’d share it here :)) in which laurens is a caricature artist and he meets alex by chance !

John Laurens hated his fucking job. There was no way to sugarcoat it. He simply couldn’t stand it: the early mornings, the late nights, the large crowds of people… it really wasn’t his scene. Besides, regardless of how big the crowds were, he still only managed to earn close to minimum wage, despite standing in the bitter cold for several hours on end.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to get out of college, make a living selling his art, then get married and have two kids. Technically, he had graduated already, but selling caricatures on the side of a New York City boardwalk was certainly not what he meant by “making a living.” After all, he was still sharing a small apartment- which, keep in mind, was certainly not meant for three people- with his best friend, Lafayette, as well as Lafayette’s boyfriend. He was also still single, but admittedly, that wasn’t the worst of his problems. He was only twenty-three; he knew he still had time.

He didn’t even quite understand how he got into the situation in the first place. Sure, he remembered coming out to his father and getting kicked out of the house, and he remembered begging Lafayette to let him stay with him. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he came to work at this stupid pier. If he’d known what he was getting himself into, he would’ve never even considered applying for a job there, or coming out to his father. At least then he’d still have access to his trust fund.

Maybe that was why he despised working there so much: maybe it was because he got to see all the happy tourists and families come by and make memories that he knew he’d never have the opportunity to make. Or maybe it was because he knew that, even with his many years of experience in the field of art, drawing caricatures was probably going to be the height of his artistic career. Nevertheless, he knew that he still had to get paid, so...

“I’d better be getting paid extra for this,” John whined, leaning his weight against the cotton candy booth next to his. It was run by a constantly hyper Peggy Schuyler, and her older sister Eliza. They had a third sister, too, but she was off in law school while her sisters were still in college. John never quite understood why they worked there, as they were stupidly wealthy, but he also didn’t want to question it; he enjoyed their company anyway.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, which provided no real source of warmth, and let out a shaky breath. “It’s fucking freezing,” he continued.

“Come on, Jackie,” Eliza retorted, “you know George isn’t gonna be happy if he sees you away from your post.”

“You know what? Fuck this. Fuck George. Why do I have to sit there looking stupid when there’s no one even stopping by?”

Peggy joined the two and giggled, beginning to tangle her fingers into John’s wild curls, which were pulled back into an attempt at a ponytail. “He’s got a point, ‘liza,” the younger girl added.

“Don’t encourage him,” Eliza said, shooting her a look, then directing her attention back to John. “You’ve gotta stop cursing, too. You never know when there’s gonna be kids nearby.”

He sighed. “I know. It’s just frustrating.” He turned on his phone to check the time, then groaned when he realized he still had an hour before he could go home. He trudged over to his own booth and sat down in the wooden stool.

In all honesty, even though he wanted to go home pretty badly, he didn’t mind this part of the day. It was the time of day where things slowed down exponentially. And while that wasn’t good for his wallet necessarily, and it was uneventful at times, it also meant that he could rest his cramping hand until he could go home.

John pulled his phone back out of his pocket and looked on social media, absentmindedly liking the photos in his feed. Each picture was almost identical to the last, so he found himself liking them to occupy his time, not because they were actually interesting.

He smiled when he realized that he’d successfully killed time for thirty minutes. That meant that there were around thirty minutes until he could go home and go to sleep.

“Hey, are you still open?”

John’s head snapped up at the sudden voice, and he was visibly startled. He was getting ready to say, “no, actually,” but he quickly bit his tongue as the man looked at him curiously, a timid smile on his face that made John’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah, come have a seat,” John said, gesturing to the stool in front of him. He complied, setting his things down on the ground beside him. John quickly reviewed the script for what he said to customers mentally. He thought it was weird at first that there was a script, but he learned that it actually helped him, especially when he didn’t know what to say… which was a lot.

“Would you like it to be colored or just black and white?” he asked, and watched as the man’s expression turned pensive.

“I’ll just have black and white, please,” he responded. This was fine by John, after all, he wanted to be done as soon as possible.

John reached into his pencil case and grabbed a pencil and a black marker. “So, what’s your name?” John questioned, studying the other man’s face for a second before going to sketch it.

“My name’s Alexander,” he said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, “-Hamilton. Alexander Hamilton.”

“Oh, nice! My name’s John Laurens.” An painfully awkward silence loomed over them.“Are you from New York, or are you visiting?” he asked.

Alexander shifted uncomfortably in the stool. “I guess you could say I’m visiting,” he explained. “Is it obvious?”

John shook his head frantically. “No, no, I just wasn’t sure.” That was sort of a lie. He could tell he wasn’t from New York because of the amount of layers he was wearing (sure, John was cold, but Alexander had to be wearing at least four jackets), and because of the slightest hint of an accent in his voice.

“Well, I just came here from the Caribbean, so I’m just trying to find somewhere to live.” John nodded, and decided that he had talked enough for the time being, and that he should focus on finishing the caricature.

As he continued to examine his face, he could help but notice that the man was actually fairly attractive.

His smile was bright and welcoming, that somehow made John feel warm inside despite the freezing temperature. He also took note of the fact that he had wide dark brown eyes, flecked with hazel and gold.

“You have pretty eyes,” John said under his breath. He hadn’t even realized that he’d said it until he heard Hamilton laugh lightheartedly at the comment, and John could feel his face darken with embarrassment. That was definitely not in the script. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you. I think you have pretty eyes, too.”

“Oh, uh… thanks…” John wanted to end himself right then and there. He really needed to learn how to filter himself.

“So, how long have you been drawing?” Alexander inquired, and John was thankful that he changed the subject.

“For as long as I can remember,” he told him. “I’ve always loved it. I just love the concept of it, you know? Being able to put something in your brain onto paper.”

“I never really thought of it like that,” Alex shrugged. John grinned crookedly at the man, putting away his pencil and uncapping the black marker to outline the sketch.

“What about you? What do you like to do?”

“Nothing interesting,” Alex said, almost mechanically. “I like writing, and debating, and reading, of course.”

“Why wouldn’t that be interesting?”

Alex stared at the ground awkwardly, running a hand through his thick locks of hair. “I don’t know. Being able to write well isn’t the same as being able to draw well.”

“I’d argue differently,” John replied. “Sure, they’re different categories of hobbies, but I can’t write for shit. I’d give anything to be a good writer.”

“I’m sure you’re just being modest.” John raised an eyebrow at him.

“I barely passed English in high school because I was so bad at writing. That, and I was so focused on art class that I kinda neglected my other classes, but that’s a different story.”

“You should give yourself more credit,” Alexander said. He checked the time on his watch. “I thought these things were supposed to take, like, five minutes? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re dragging this out on purpose.”

Once again, John felt his face burning bright red as he’d realized that he was right. He hadn’t even noticed that he put slightly more detail than he usually did, or that he’d even started to color the picture with crayons he hadn’t even realized he’d taken from his bag.

“Aw, shit,” John whispered, clutching his hair in his hand.

Alex raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, calm down. I was just joking,” he said with amusement. “You know, you’re cute, John Laurens.”

He was almost angry at the beautiful stranger. How dare he make him flustered and tongue-tied with a simple remark? In less than fifteen minutes?

“Thanks,” he choked out, unable to think of anything else to say. “I, uh… I’m pretty much done.”

After a few finishing touches, John was finally satisfied with the way the caricature looked. He put away his art supplies and turned the canvas around to show Alex his caricature.

His heart nearly pounded out of his chest as he was met with Alexander’s awestruck expression. “This is so cool!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

John felt a strange sense of pride, but also relief at the Caribbean man’s reaction. He typically never had to worry about people liking his drawings, but this time felt different. This time, he felt like he had to prove himself to this man that he’d never met before.

“You even made my nose look good! Incredible!” John raised his eyebrows at him.

“What’s wrong with your nose?”

“It’s just so… there. I don’t know.”

“And you said you’re a writer?” John teased, earning a glare from Alex.

“What I mean is that it’s so… protuberant. I hate it.”

“I actually happen to like your nose, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Alex fished into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill, placing it into John’s hand.

John stood up from the stool, only to be stopped by Alexander. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m just getting your change. Don’t worry, I’m not charging you for the coloring… that was my bad.” Alex shook his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“No, no, that’s not necessary.”

“But… it’s only ten dollars. Didn’t you see the sign?”

“I saw it. But I want you to keep the change.”

John hesitated, before finally saying, “Are you sure?” Alex gave him another unamused look. “I’m just saying, if you need extra money for a hotel or something, you’re gonna regret giving me extra.”

“I want you to have it, okay?” Alexander clearly wasn’t going to budge, so John gave in and slipped the money into his pocket.

“If you say so…”

Alex stood up and brushed off his clothes, then picked up his things off the ground. “It was really nice meeting you, John.”

“You, too, Alexander.” John felt himself smile at the way his name rolled off his tongue, sweet and smooth like caramel.

He waved goodbye to him with a disappointed frown. His stomach dropped as he watched him walk away, then completely disappear into the crowd of bustling New Yorkers, eager to get home after a long day just like John was.

He wanted to smack himself.

He should’ve asked him on a date, or asked him for his number at least- because there was no way in hell that he would be able to find Alex again.

He didn’t have time to wallow in his own self pity, because he then saw the two sisters walking by his booth.

“Hey John! Get any more customers?” Peggy asked.

John nodded slowly, pulling the wrinkled twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and showing it to them.

“Twenty, huh? I guess today’s your lucky day.”

“I guess,” John mumbled, going to put the money back in his pocket. As he was doing so, he saw a small piece of paper fly out from in between the folds of the dollar, landing on the cement. He furrowed his eyebrows, bewildered, and bent over to pick up the piece of paper.

It was a sticky note, John had suddenly realized. He unfolded it reluctantly, unsure of why his heartbeat accelerated so much, only to see a set of digits- that he could tell were hastily scribbled down- next to a name.

“Alexander,” he whispered inaudibly, a wide smile growing on his face as he stared at the messily written numbers on the sticky note.

It was then that John concluded that maybe his job wasn’t as bad as he thought.

[creativeskullcreations]

HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 2)

Okay, so this was originally gonna be a two part thing, but part two ran long so now it's gonna be a three parter! Which is fine, since each "episode" is gonna be it's own little fic anyways, though it does mean a little more time before I can work on Outside again. Shouldn't take too long though, as part three is already written out and just needs edited.

Stacy was vaguely aware that Lydia and Riley could turn their attention to her any moment, but she remained frozen. She stared, with wide eyes, at the space where Riley's puppeteer should've been. Rather than a human, like there should've been, there was instead a strange, wheeled, metal stand. Between the wheels was a joint of some sort, since the stand was tilted forward as Riley leaned over the counter

'WHAT THE SHIT?!' Stacy stared silently, hand resting on the fallen beaker as her heart pounded in her ears. 'Are all of them like this?! Was Mortimer?!' She swallowed thickly. 'What was really on that paper he wanted me to sign?!'

The stand started to tilt back, and Stacy quickly stood up, beaker in hand. Without a word she put it back in place and quickly left the room, shoving her hands into her shorts pockets to keep them from shaking.

Luckily, nobody seemed to have noticed, as they simply restarted the scene without saying anything to her about anything. Taking advantage, she rushed to the bathroom, locking herself in one of the stalls.

'-shitshitshitshitshit-' Was the current commentary going through her head at the moment as she paced in the small space. Her hands covered her mouth to keep the sobs in as tears streamed down her face and she tried to will herself to stop crying. 'I can't! I can't stay here! Oh god...' She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes and sitting on the closed toilet lid. 'I want to go home...'

"Hey! Hey, Human!" Stacy's head snapped up just in time for something to fall on her face. She flinched and it slid off, landing on her lap and giving her a good look at it. It looked like a rather large hand puppet, like the ones given to the guest children at the end of filming. Only this one was moving on it's own, like Riley and, possibly, the others.

"Uh..." Was all Stacy could think of to say. It had snapped her out of... whatever that was, but this was yet another Puppet. Granted, it was certainly more adorable than the others, but still...

"Why are you in here? Shouldn't you be out there, doing Human stuff?" It -she, she had a female voice- asked, "standing" up in her lap. When she started to tip over, Stacy reached out a hand to help keep her steady.

'I felt like I was literally going to die because I discovered you guys have no puppeteers.' Yeah, no. She wasn't going to answer with that. "Well, this is the bathroom, so..."

"Yeah, but you aren't doing bathroom stuff. You're just crying." The Puppet dismissed, and Stacy felt vaguely offended at being called out so bluntly. "Why were you crying, anyways?"

"No reason..." 'That I will ever tell you or anyone ever.' She rubbed at her eyes, trying to get rid of the tears. "Where did you even come from, anyways?"

"The vents." She pointed up, and Stacy looked to see an open vent right above her. She would've said something about it, namely how creepy that was, when the Puppet spoke up again. "Anyways, my name's Scout! What about you?"

"Uh, Stacy. Stacy Al-Stein! Stacy Stein..." She looked back down at Scout. "What were you even doing up there?"

"Escaping, duh!" She then covered her mouth, looking almost sheepish. "Uh, please don't tell anyone, though. I'm not actually supposed to be out here right now."

"Don't worry. Nobody will hear about it from me." The girl promised. 'Not that anyone would even believe me, anyways...'

"Awesome!" The Puppet gave a open-mouthed grin that, in Stacy's opinion, killed any cuteness she had. "I'd still better go, though. Just, like, close your eyes or something."

Stacy did as asked, and felt the light weight vanish. She looked up in time to see the Puppet disappear from sight. '... That was really weird. I kinda hope I see her again before I leave, though...'

Feeling somewhat better, thought not really knowing why, the girl finished up and left the bathroom. Somehow, she felt confident enough to try and finish out the day. And, with any luck, she could convince Mary not to make her come back ever again.

Moving quickly, she managed to find Lydia again. To her relief, nobody seemed to have even noticed she was missing. Thus, she was able to smoothly rejoin Lydia as she led the kids over to the next segment.

"Ah, there you are Stacy!" She was greeted cheerfully. "We're just setting up for the next next segment. Then we've got Daisy's bit, and then it'll be time for lunch."

"Okay..." Stacy helped get the kids in place at the many different easels, making sure everyone had their markers and pads of paper. She paused briefly, staring when she saw Nick Nack helping a girl set up her paper. He was leaning over the table, showing her the proper way to put her pad on the easel. It was almost sweet, watching the usually stuck up Puppet help a kid out.

But knowing what she did now, Stacy found it pretty creepy.

But she ignored it. She helped Lydia make sure everyone had what they needed, and then moved off set so the cameras could get rolling. But even though she wasn't on set, she kept as close an eye as she could on the Puppet without being obvious. Danny was around somewhere, and like hell would she let these things get him.

The segment went as they normally did. The kids drew something and Nick Nack sang some stupid little song about being creative or something. It made Stacy scoff internally. 'I could write a much better song than that. I thought Nick was supposed to have standards.'

"Hey, kid." Lydia leaned in, trying not to be caught by the mic. "Head on over to the kitchen set and help Daisy get set up." Stacy gave her a horrified look, but it was misinterpreted. "Look, I know you're supposed to stick close to me, but she always needs the extra help. So if you could give her that today, I'll make sure she saves some pie for you, okay?"

'It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?!' The girl nodded mutely, and quietly started to sneak over to the proper set. She paused when she reached the edge, the angle allowing her to watch Daisy without being seen herself.

So far, it didn't seem the Puppet was doing anything sinister. She was just "pacing" back and forth behind her counter, setting out ingredients for whatever she would be baking on the segment. Most likely it would be pie, but from what Stacy knew she did occasionally make cake, and at one point she made donuts. She was also humming the theme song as she worked, which made her seem just a little bit more... human. At the very least, it gave Stacy enough courage to actually approach, making sure to make a bit of noise as she did so.

"Oh!" The Puppet jumped as the girl kicked a pen someone had left on the floor, turning to face her. "Well hey there Stacy! I didn't expect to see you here yet."

"Uh, Lydia said that you, y'know, might need help getting set up before all the kids showed up." She couldn't quite keep her voice from shaking, and prayed that it wasn't too obvious. Luckily, the southern belle didn't seem to notice, though Stacy wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Well shoot, I sure could. Some of these assistants just put my things far too high on the shelves." She pulled a pad of paper and pen from her apron and scribbled out a quick list. "If you could just get me these out of the storage closet, I'd be ever so grateful." She handed over the list,, which Stacy took with some hesitation. "The closet is right over there, sugar. Shouldn't be too hard to find it."

"Yeah." She said, but Daisy had already moved on, disappearing from sight as she ducked under the counter. It left the girl feeling very much like character from a video-game.  Still, she shook it off and went over to the closet, finding it easily as it said Kitchen Storage on the door.

Entering with only a brief hesitation, she found the entire small room completely unorganized. "Jesus Christ! Did a hurricane come in through here?!" She glanced between the list and the mess piled around her with a heavy sigh. Even though there were only three items on it, she felt her heart sink as she looked around the room. "This is gonna take forever..."

"Stacy!" Came a cry from above, followed by something soft landing on her head. The girl gave a stifled scream as the Hand Puppet from before slid off her head onto a box in front of her.

"Scout?!" She struggled to keep her voice low. "What the hell?!"

"Are you getting stuff for Mom?" The Puppet asked, "hopping" from the box she was on to a lower one.

'... Mom?' Stacy's mind went blank for a moment, trying to figure out the logistics. "Uh..."

"Cause I know where everything is in here." She climbed up onto a set of boxes set up like stairs, ending up at almost eye level with the teen. "Sometimes Bonzai likes to hide stuff, but I always know how to find it. Just tell me what you need!"

"Uh, okay!" Stacy perked up, not one to ignore a miracle when it happened. She looked over the list again to make sure she got it right. "Okay.. First thing she needs is a hand mixer."

"Over there!" Scout pointed to a shelf and Stacy made her way over. Right there, underneath a box meant for a set of mixing bowls was the mixer. She picked it up, then looked at the list again.

"She also needs some measuring spoons, and some sort of special rolling pin, I think." Stacy scratched her head, confused, but Scout nodded.

"I know what you mean! The spoons are in here, and the rolling pin is way up there." Stacy could feel her hopes shatter once again as she looked up at the tall shelf the Puppet pointed to. "But don't worry, I can get it for you. You grab the box of spoons!"

"But-" Stacy looked back, only to find Scout had vanished. "Okay, then." She picked up the box and put the mixer in it. After a moment, she also dropped the list in too, in case Daisy needed to double check.

"Look out!" Stacy caught the falling objects in the box as well, said objects being Scout and the rolling pin. "Awesome catch! Totally saved my life there." She climbed out of the box, and the girl watched in concern as she dropped to the floor.

"Uh, don't you want to, I dunno, come with?" Stacy asked as the Puppet crawled away behind some boxes.

"Nah, I got stuff to do, vents to map out." She answered flippantly as she disappeared from sight. "I'll see you later, though!" Stacy looked behind the box, but couldn't see the Puppet despite there being nowhere she could go.

"Huh..." She chose to ignore that for now and left the closet, not sure if she was leaving or entering the Twilight Zone. She went back over to where Daisy was, hefting the box up onto the counter. "Um, here you go. This is everything you needed, right?" She backed away quickly as Daisy sped over to where she was, rifling through the box.

"Yep, sure is sugar!" She had a beaming smile on her face, but it just made Stacy uncomfortable, so she looked away. "Thank you so much for your help. Now I can get everything all set up before the kids get here."

"No problem..." Stacy muttered, backing up slightly. She watched as Daisy set everything up, unsure of whether to help or not. On the other hand, it felt wrong to simply stand there doing nothing. On the other, well...

Stacy had seen the older episodes of the show. One wrong move, and she was "burnt toast, sliced thinly" as the quote went. So she just stayed back and watched, waiting in case she did need help.

In the end, however, she didn't make a move to help. Not that it mattered much, as soon Lydia had showed up with the kids, and Stacy had her hands full helping get the in their places and sitting still.

"Thank you so much for doing that." The woman muttered as they helped everyone get set up for recording. "Seriously, it's making everything go so much faster."

"No problem..." Stacy said, wondering how much worse things would've been if she hadn't helped. 'It really didn't take that long. Although Scout did help me out. Maybe they should ask her for help next time they need stuff from in there.'

She helped finish getting things set up, then hurried out of the way so they could film the segment. She sat nervously next to Lydia, watching as the kids ran around "helping" Daisy bake a pie while she sang about it. It was all very typical for the kid's show, and Stacy found herself bored again very soon.

"Y'know, after this it'll be lunch time." Lydia whispered when she noticed her fidgeting. "Why don't you head on over to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I'll meet you over there when this is done."

"Are you sure that would be okay?" Stacy questioned. It wasn't that she didn't want to leave, but what Mary or Lydia's boss might say if they saw her just "wandering" around.

"It'll be fine. If anyone complains, just tell them that I sent ya on ahead to save me a seat." The woman told her with a wink and a grin which Stacy hesitantly returned. "It's down that hallway over there, and is the big room with the big windows. You can't miss it!"

"Okay." Stacy went off in the indicated direction, dodging around a few other workers. Nobody said a thing, or even seemed to take notice of her as she made her way down the hall, easily finding the cafeteria. Looking in the large windows, she saw a buffet style set up, not unlike the one at her school. The only difference was that it looked, and smelled, far more appetizing.

She was just about to open it, when she heard voices coming from the room across the hall. Before she had even registered who exactly was talking, she was already making her way over to listen in. Carefully, she opened the door just a crack, then crouched low to look through the opening.

"I can not believe those children! They ruined my set, and refused to listen!" Stacy watched as Riley wheeled back and forth, looking and sounding madder than Stacy would've thought possible for the seemingly nice Puppet. Nick Nack also watched her from where he was leaning against a desk, looking quite bored.

"Riley, please, he knocked over one empty beaker. The new girl even picked it up for you. It's fine." He sounded exasperated, but quickly backed up with an almost fearful expression as the scientist got in his face.

"Shut up you paint covered fool! I value each and every tool!" She shouted, making Nick and even Stacy flinch back. "One day a brat will make a mistake insurance can't cover! This is why I prefer working with children that are older." She hissed out.

"Yes, well, these segments are still integral to the show. The parents love them, more than the kids I think." The artist had recovered quickly, now looking unfazed by the rant. He took a paint brush out of his pocket and examined it, making a show of not looking at his fellow Puppet. "Besides, we're recording the actual story after the humans eat, and you're on first again. So surely you can keep a hold of yourself until then."

Riley just grumbled, crossing her arms. Nick sighed, putting his brush away, and Stacy ducked to the side when he turned to face the scientist and, consequently, the door.

"What do you think of the new girl, anyways?" He asked. "She seems rather shy to me."

Riley scoffed. "It's her first day Nick Nack, and she's being taught by Lydia of all people. Just give her a week, and I'm sure she'll, uh..." Riley trailed off, and Stacy found herself trying to think of what could possibly rhyme with "people".

"Talk yourself into a corner, did you?" He asked smugly, and Stacy looked back to see the absolute smirkiest smirk on his face. Riley was on him instantly, smacking him with both hands.

"Shut up shut up SHUT UP!" She snarled with every hit. "At least I actually try! Not my fault you can't continue the rhymes!"

"Now you wait just a minute there!" The artist snapped as he backed away from her, but anything else he would say Stacy didn't hear, as something - or rather, someone - once again landed on her head. She snapped her head forward and caught Scout as she fell.

"Hi Stacy!" The hand Puppet greeted, a little too loudly for the girl's taste. She felt her heart stop as the argument beyond the door did, and quickly backed away.

"Hey, Scout..." She said quietly as she hurried away. The cafeteria, while not full, did have people in it. Which meant it wasn't a good hiding spot so long as she had Scout with her. Instead she ducked around the corner, hoping the two Puppets wouldn't be curious enough to look very far. Her heart sank when she noticed it was a dead end, but she ignored it for the moment. "What were you up to?"

"Looking for you." The Puppet said. "How'd Mom's part of the show go?"

"Uh, good?" She winced at the questioning tone. "I don't really know, Lydia sent me over here, so I didn't get to see all of it."

"That's too bad." Scout said, then almost deflated as the squeaking of wheels approached. "Oh no."

Stacy felt everything go cold, and started to hold Scout tighter. Her heart pounded, and she backed up as Riley came around the corner with a glare.

"Scout!" She snapped. "We have told you before, during the day you're not to venture beyond your door!"

"Indeed." Nick said as he joined the scientist. Together, they managed to block a good portion of the narrow hallway, blocking any escape. Stacy felt her throat constrict, heartbeat quickening as she realized she was cornered. "You should know better by now."

"But I wasn't seen!" A pause as the small Puppet glanced at the human holding her. "By more than one person. But Stacy's my friend! She's cool with it! Right, Stacy?" Scout looked up, frowning when she gave no answer. "Stacy?"

Pupils shrunk and breathing quick and shallow, the girl was staring straight ahead and clutching the Hand Puppet in an ever tightening grip. It was starting to hurt, actually, and Scout was beginning to worry about her new friend. "Um, Stacy..."

Riley ignored the girl and simply sighed, approaching and reaching for the Puppet. "Enough of this nonsense! It's time to-"

Stacy shrieked, flinging Scout at Nick and catching him in the face. While he stumbled back, scrambling to grab the Hand Puppet, she shoved Riley to the floor and bolted. The three of them watched  as she vanished around the corner, the sound of her footsteps fading fast as she raced away.

"Well." Nick said, holding Scout as he stared after the girl and Riley struggled to pick herself up off the floor. "That was certainly... something." He cleared his throat, desperate to think of what he should do, but nothing came to mind.

"Man, I can't believe you two chased off my only friend!" Scout lamented, interrupting his tumbling thoughts. He stared down at her as she flopped over in his grip in the most over dramatic way possible. "She was so cool! Didn't talk down to me or anything. And now I'm never going to see her again!"

"Er..." He blinked, now even more confused. He wanted his paints back, as at least he understood those. 'Blasted humans, making a mess out of everything. Father, at least, was never this bad!'

"Just help me get off the ground!" Riley demanded, shaking the artist from his thoughts and confusion. "And don't worry about the girl Scout, I'm sure we'll see her around."

"But, not you." Nick told the Hand Puppet as he helped Riley up. "You, I'm sure, will be grounded."

"Boooooooooo!" But Scout didn't complain beyond that, letting Nick haul her back to Daisy's room. Riley, meanwhile went in search of another human. There was a human child now lost somewhere in the studio, and proper procedure was to tell the adults so they could handle it. And Riley wasn't one to ignore proper procedure.

[ecto-american]

Worldbuilding

DannyMay 2019 themed story, I’m not late I’m just going my own pace pls be nice to me

Ectoplasm | Broken | Glass | Theory | Community | Eavesdropping | Or Read on AO3.

Day 8: Worldbuilding (shh it's close enough)

Maddie knew that she was lying. It was really weird. Jazz wasn't much of a liar. She rarely did anything that would warrant needing to lie, so knowing that Jazz was lying to her...it made her uneasy.

She glanced in the review mirror at Phantom and Jazz as she drove. Phantom was laying in the backseat, head propped up on a pillow that rested in Jazz's lap. Jazz had brought the whiteboard along, having let it rest on the floorboards along with the markers. She was speaking softly to Phantom some nice, comforting words, words that Maddie was sure Phantom would never be able to remember. He had instantly dozed off upon being given more pain reliever. Jack ended up carrying him to the RV.

Jack didn't speak much, aside from a brief phone calls he had made. In a final ditch effort to see where Danny was, he had called Valerie's dad. Maddie knew that he and Valerie had broken up a while ago, but from how her son spoke, they still seemed to be friendly and on good terms with each other. Once more, it was reported that nobody had seen Danny. It caused Maddie some stress, especially given the reactions of the duo in the back.

Jazz had frozen up anxiously. Even Phantom, having briefly woken up upon hearing Jack's loud voice, had stiffened. They were hiding something. Maddie just knew that they both had knowledge of where Danny was. But why were they hiding it? Danny was a good kid. She doubted he'd have gotten into something like drugs. Maybe a secret girlfriend? But Jazz would spill the beans if that was the case, to prevent all the worrying.

The other was another call to the hospital, stating that they were nearly there. From what Jack had described, they were understandably skeptical of the situation. Ghost hunters, asking human doctors to help them heal a ghost? It sounded insane. But for some reason, Phantom was incredibly popular in town. It wasn't just the local youth that looked up to him. Adults, her own peers, were looking at this kid as a hero.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot, and as promised, there was somebody waiting outside for them. A skeptical looking pair of nurses looked surprised upon Maddie pulling up. Jack rolled down the window.

"Hey, we had called ahead?" Jack half-asked aloud, almost hesitant.

"Oh, yeah," the first nurse nodded. "May I see?"

Maddie put the RV in park, and she and Jack both exited. Jazz opened the door for them. By now, Jazz had helped Phantom sit up properly into the seat. One of the nurses stepped up to properly see inside, holding onto a door handle. Maddie could see the heartbreak on the nurse's face. She used her free hand to lightly touch Phantom's swollen face, trying to get a feel for the injury as Phantom let out a small whimper.

"How's it look?" her coworker asked. A glance and a mouthing of the words "really bad" was all it took for the other to nod. "I'll go get a stretcher."

Why they didn't already have one ready, Maddie wasn't sure. It almost irritated her, but she decided to not let that get to her. It only took a few moments for the other nurse to return, along with another staff member. Carefully, they began to help Phantom out of the RV and onto the stretcher.

"Will you be staying?" one had turned to ask the Fentons.

"I wanna stay!" Jazz blurted out. Maddie stared at her daughter. Jazz had gotten the whiteboard out, clutching it tightly to her chest with a fist full of markers. In return, Jazz had shot Maddie a pitiful look. "Please, Mom?"

"Honey, your dad's going to be taking you back for the college tour," Maddie reminded her. Jazz's lip quivered. "And I need to get home to make sure Danny gets to bed at a reasonable hour.

"We can't just leave him here all alone," Jazz lightly argued. "I'll just skip the college tour."

Skip the college tour?

Who on Earth was this girl, and what did she do with Jasmine Fenton?

"Jazz, you've been waiting a long time for this tour," Maddie scolded. "You're not going to skip it." Jack lightly nudged his wife.

"Mads, she's kinda right," he whispered. "Phantom's a ghost. They may not be able to treat him correctly. And this would be a great chance to study his ecto-biology and get some tests."

Maddie thought for a moment, studying Phantom as he was settled in on the stretcher. A nurse was talking to him in a very motherly tone about how they were going to take good care of him. Phantom barely seemed to notice, staring off into seemingly nothing.

"I'll stay," Maddie finally decided with a light sigh. Jack grinned.

"Jazz and I will swing by the house, and we'll bring you the other car and some stuff to take samples and what-not," Jack offered. Maddie seemed to brighten at the idea of finally getting a solid ectoplasm sample from Phantom, one that wasn't contaminated by being on the ground or splattered against a wall, and all the ecto-biological information they could collect.

"Can you pack me my kindle, and the charger and one for my phone?" Maddie requested. "I feel like I'll be here a while."

"You got it, babe," Jack replied. Maddie glanced at Jazz. She had no clue how her daughter really was feeling at this point. Her face had turned blank of emotion, a bit pale.

"We'll be back, then," Jazz said slowly. She offered the board and markers to Maddie, and she accepted them.

"I'll see you in a bit, sweetie," Maddie told her, leaning down to peck her forehead lovingly. Jazz smiled weakly at her, and she gave Jack a quick peck as well.

"So you're staying?" a nurse questioned. Maddie nodded. "Well come on, let's see what we can do."

Maddie gave a brief wave to her family as they loaded back up in the RV. She glanced at the staff as they were assuring Phantom was comfortable on the stretcher.

"Sorry hon, we're just going to put this over you to avoid any drama wheeling you back," the other nurse apologized. Phantom gave a half nod and wheeze. She pulled a white sheet over his form before they began to wheel him inside, the ghost hunter following shortly after.

123456798

Maddie sat with the whiteboard in Phantom's private room. Thankfully, nobody outside of hospital staff had noticed him being wheeled in, nor did people seem to give much thought as to why Maddie herself was there. After some debate and confused questions on how they'd even proceed, Maddie and the nurses had decided that the only thing keeping Phantom in bed would be an IV drip of pain medication that was slowly relieving his pain. The ghost had been changed out of her son's shirt and what was left of his jumpsuit into a hospital gown.

She had begun to take notes on everything she was learning so far on her phone. Phantom could drink water, even specifically asking for it. Whether or not it was a need or just a thing he could do, he still could drink it. He appears to feel pain. He has bones, teeth. Human medicines work on him to a certain extent it seemed. But how? Lightly tapping her foot, she sighed. Phantom was such an eternal mystery.

A soft knock at the door caught her attention, and it startled Phantom awake. The door opened, and a short brunette doctor entered, giving a warm smile.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Carrington, I'll be taking care of you today," she introduced herself. She reached out to shake Maddie's hand, before going over to do the same with Phantom. Phantom was staring at her curiously as he accepted her hand.

"I'm Maddie Fenton, I'm one half of the Fentons ghost research and hunting team," Maddie replied. Dr. Carrington nodded knowingly, despite still looking a bit puzzled. Maddie knew why. A ghost hunter. Helping a ghost. It wasn't your everyday sight.

"So, the problem seems kind of obvious to me. Your jaw hurts pretty bad, huh?" Dr. Carrington sounded very sympathetic. Phantom gave a half-nod. "Don't worry, dear, we'll see what we can do about it. But firstly, we're going to try and get some basic information about you, okay?"

Phantom nodded.

"He hasn't really been able to talk, so we've been using this," Maddie said, and she held up the board.

"That's perfectly fine," Dr. Carrington replied, and she began to flip through her clipboard. "Can you give him the board, and we can get started?"

Maddie nodded, and she shifted to hand Phantom the board and a marker. Phantom accepted both of them. He uncapped the marker and testingly scribbled on the board. Maddie hummed curiously.

"He's a lot more alert now," she noted to the doctor. Dr. Carrington glanced at Phantom in between her writing on the paper.

"How was he before?" she asked.

"Very...unresponsive," Maddie explained. "Could barely focus, unable to write much on the board before. Jazz, my daughter, could only really get information out of him by writing stuff on the board and having him pick, like gesturing to yes or no." Dr. Carrington made an impressed noise.

"Very smart of her," she commented, and she jotted that down. "It was likely a symptom of being in shock and in pain, but now he's likely more stable due to consistent medication and just simply time giving him a chance to recover. So, Danny, right?" It was weird to hear Phantom being called Danny. It...felt almost chilling to remember that Phantom shared a name with her son.

Phantom nodded.

"Alright, Danny, so can you tell me a little bit about you? Date of birth, where you were born, any allergies, any pre-existing medical conditions?" Dr. Carrington asked.

Phantom began to scribble on the board. Maddie watched him closely as Phantom was able to steadily hold the marker and write. Dr. Carrington waited patiently before he finally turned the board to her. She silently read it to herself.

"My goodness, you've been through a lot," she said almost in awe.

"May I see?" Maddie questioned. Phantom stared at her, wide eyed. Dr. Carrington lightly ruffled his hair.

"You don't have to show," she assured him. "It can be doctor-patient confidentiality."

Maddie frowned. She was doing all this to help this town's menace, and she wasn't going to get any access to this information? It was absolutely insulting. Dr. Carrington began to focus on writing down what Phantom had written on the board while the ghost and ghost hunter locked in a staring contest.

Finally, Phantom shyly broke his gaze. He hesitantly handed Maddie the board. She accepted it, and she scanned what Phantom had written in response.

4/3, 16, born in Wisconsin, allergic to penicillin

And the worst part was the previous medical conditions. Phantom had instead made a list of previous injuries. They were very vague and to the point. Stab to chest breathing issues, broken nose breathing, crushed knee chronic pain, ecto-gun to face headaches. Near the end, it seemed as if Phantom had begun to run out of space, despite having more to say. His handwriting got smaller and smaller.

Maddie reluctantly gave Phantom the board back, and she leaned back in her chair as she watched the doctor begin to ask Phantom what had happened. She jotted down in her phone the information Phantom had provided, and it hit her. Phantom's information matched her son's exactly. Same birthday, same age, same birth state, same allergy. It sent a shiver up her spine as she stared. This...the absolute odds of this being just a coincidence were simply too outlandish.

Soon, Phantom turned the board to the doctor. She silently read it, and her face paled the further she read. Maddie was dying of curiosity. The hunter leaned forward, trying to grasp a peak. Phantom glanced at her, and he soon turned the board to her. And she felt herself grow a bit numb at the words.

Fought Skulker. Wanted my pelt. Choked me out. Woke up strapped down on table because of cutting. He hit jaw so I couldn't ghostly wail.

"How did you escape?" Maddie asked aloud. Phantom didn't look at her, or make any moves to write down how.

"So it's not just your jaw?" the doctor changed the subject. She pointed to Phantom's neck with her pen. "I could see the cut on your neck, but didn't know it was...due to that. May we see?"

Phantom nodded. Dr. Carrington helped him sit up and pull the hospital gown off his shoulders and forwards. The bandaging Jack had done earlier was done with a gentle care, and specks of green ectoplasm had begun to bleed through. The doctor picked up some medical scissors to cut away the bandaging, carefully pulling them off.

Maddie had gone hunting before. She grew up in Alabama, and she remembered her dad showing her and her sister how to skin what they hunted. The carefully made cut was a lot cleaner and less graphic than she had imagined. It wasn't the half-hazardly passionate cut that she was expecting, something that would tell her that this skinning was just a feral ghost action. It was definitely intentional. Somebody really did want to skin Phantom.

"Oh my, this is really something," Dr. Carrington murmured to herself. "But I think this should heal just fine. It looks like you got lucky on this front." She smiled warmly at him. "Just some stitches, which we'll likely do during surgery. But right now, I wanna go ahead and get some X-rays of your jaw and chest. Alright?" Phantom gave a light nod. "Excellent. The nurse will be here in a second to take you. And then we'll see what all we can do for you, alright?" She lightly patted Phantom's shoulder, and she flashed the two a smile before leaving the room.

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Two men in white suits walked up to the desk. The bald, more built one reached into his inner shirt pocket to produce a badge. The other, a fairly skinny white haired young man, fumbled and searched his pockets in a brief panic before copying his partner, also producing his badge.

"I'm Agent K, this is Agent G from the Guys in White," the first one spoke. "We're here for the arrest of a Danny Phantom. We were informed that he was admitted here as a patient about an hour ago."

The woman working behind the station looked worried, and she began to flip through some papers on her desk.

"Um, I can direct you to the doctor assigned to work his case," she said hesitantly. "Or, actually, let me page her."

"That would be very helpful, thank you," Agent K spoke.

The employee paged the doctor, and the agents waited patiently. Agent G leaned into the other agent.

"When he gets out, can I taze him?" he asked quietly. Agent K rolled his eyes.

"No," he told him sternly, keeping his voice low as to not attract unwanted attention. "Not unless he attacks you. There's civilians here, we can't afford that kind of casualty. We're to take him in as quietly and quickly as we can to avoid property damage."

Agent G said nothing, standing quietly for a moment. He rocked on his heels, fidgeting while Agent K stood nearly as still as a statue.

"...So when do I shoot the ecto-gun?"

Agent K took his sunglasses off to rub at his eyes tiredly. Rookies.

"You don't unless there's a clear and present danger," Agent K scowled. He put his sunglasses on, despite being inside. "Calm down, or I'm going to make you sit in the car."

Agent G frowned, but he didn't say anything else. He sighed boredly, checking his watch. Agent K kept his eyes locked on the doors that led further into the hospital.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Dr. Carrington came out accompanied by a woman in a nice business suit, holding a file folder full of papers. They went to the station, speaking briefly with the worker who pointed out the agents. They approached them. Agent K nudged Agent G, who stopped fidgeting and stood straight with him.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Carrington, and this is one of the lawyers who represent the hospital, Elizabeth Ohmer," she introduced herself and her companion. Ohmer nodded. "I understand that you're here for my patient?"

"Yes, we're from the Guys in White," Agent K did the talking, once again pulling out his badge. Agent G copied him. "We understand that you have a ghost named Danny Phantom in your care, and we have a warrant for him to be released into our custody immediately."

"Well, as government officials, you should know that you need to wait until the suspect has received the proper care and is discharged before you can bring them into custody," the lawyer reminded him with a frown. Agent K frowned in return.

"He's wanted for felony level offenses," Agent K informed her. "We have a right to bring him in for questioning for his criminal offenses. You are interfering with the law, and I suggest you hand over the ghost before you get arrested too."

"We've done nothing wrong," Ohmer kept a level tone and voice with them, despite giving them a certain Look. Agent K didn't flinch, though the rookie was quickly growing intimidated. "Mr. Phantom is in no condition to talk to you nor be discharged at this time. You are welcome to stay here and wait for him to recover, we have plenty of coffee and magazines that you can read while you wait. But you should know that there's absolutely no way that I'm letting this kid leave the hospital until he's had treatment and can be assured that he's on a steady recovery path. Mr. Phantom is a self-reported minor at sixteen, meaning that even if you have him wanted for felony offenses, in the state of Illinois, you still have to have a youth officer present for questioning purposes and for processing once you've charged them."

Ohmer reached into her folder file to hand Agent K a piece of paper. The agent accepted it, silently reading the contents. It was simply a packet from a legal document, highlighted in bright yellow being the parts of note. It detailed what she said. He looked up at her.

"You can't apply United States laws to a ghost," Agent K argued. Agent G remained silent. Dr. Carrington shrugged.

"Given that Mr. Phantom self-reported that he was born in Wisconsin, that makes him a minor citizen of the United States, so I think we can apply those laws to him. If you question him without a youth officer in this hospital, I can and will contact the media, state and police about how you've violated the civil rights of the town's celebrity. I don't think that you also want to risk a lawsuit from Mr. Phantom himself over it,," she replied. She pulled out another piece of paper, similar to the other. A description of the legal rights that were arguably applicable to Phantom, with more highlights. Agent K's face visibly dropped in defeat as he took it. "You're not the first government agent to walk into the hospital, and you won't be the last. Now of course, you are allowed to stick around if you really want to, but you may not talk to him at this time until both Mr. Phantom is ready to receive visitors and you have a youth officer."

Agent K narrowed his eyes, his anger hidden by his sunglasses. They came prepared for him, and this was imposing a problem. A problem on the worst kind of scale: Legal loopholes and technicalities.

"As of now, Mr. Phantom's undergoing some tests so we can figure out how best to treat him," Dr. Carrington spoke up. "He will likely not be ready or able to talk to any officers until tomorrow, the very earliest."

"What are the details of his condition?" Agent K questioned.

"All I can say at this time is that we're still assessing what the problem is," the doctor replied. "Would you like security to escort you out, or would you like to wait?"

Agent K took a deep breath and exhaled harshly in frustration. Agent G's head glanced back and forth between the hospital employees and his coworker, anxiously waiting.

"...We'll be in the waiting room," Agent K finally said. Dr. Carrington and Ohmer nodded. "We still have a warrant, and Mr. Phantom is to be released to our custody upon being discharged. And you are still to alert us if there is any security or physical threat from Phantom. He is a massive threat to Amity Park's safety, and we cannot just leave the area."

"Alright. We'll call you if either of those happen," she replied. "But be warned. You will be here a while."

Agent K didn't reply, simply giving a brief nod before turning. He lightly nudged Agent G.

"Come on, rookie," he told him, and they moved to take a seat.

They settled into seats, and the second they sat, Agent G began to fidget before leaning into Agent K.

"So what?" he asked quietly. "We taze him later?" Agent K sighed.

"No, you moron," he hissed. "I'm going to update the boss, and then we wait." Agent G looked dumbfounded.

"Just...wait?" he asked. "But I thought we'd have a cool shootout, ya know? With ecto-guns and blast shields, and then of course I save a hot nurse who's so thankful I saved her she-"

"Shut up," Agent K grumbled, pulling out his cell phone. He couldn't wait for Agent O to get back from vacation so, if nothing else, he had somebody else to help deal with yet another trigger happy rookie. "The Guys in White is mostly paperwork and waiting."

"And you're cool with that?"

"We get paid by the hour, and I've been catching up on Game of Thrones," Agent K explained, hitting his boss's contact info and slumping in his seat.

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Dr. Carrington and Maddie stood together with as they looked at the X-rays. All of this was fascinating, the knowledge that Phantom had a skeletal system, and that it was basically a human's. They were a bit silent as they studied the images before them. The door opened, but they paid no attention to it, and the surgeon came up to them. He let out a low whistle the second he saw them.

"Damn," he spoke in awe.

"Seven fractures," Dr. Carrington agreed. She held up his pen to the X-rays as she spoke. "You can see the comminuted fracture, and he's also got four other oblique fractures. Plus seven missing teeth, five more are badly damaged and tongue nearly chopped off. Kid went through hell."

"We're going to need to basically wire this kid back in one piece," the surgeon agreed. He also used his pen to point out injuries. "His left side has most of the damage, it looks like a hard impact."

"Yeah, he reported being in a fight with another ghost," Maddie spoke up.

"Mrs. Fenton, will you be joining us in surgery?" the surgeon asked. He hesitated. "Of course, we typically would never. But given the circumstances, we may need your expertise." Maddie nodded.

"Yes, I'll be happy to assist," she replied. "It'll be a good chance to really study some of Phantom's anatomy."

"You're going to have only this chance," Dr. Carrington said with a grimace. "The Guys in White have a warrant for his arrest. When he gets discharged, they'll likely be taking him in." Maddie raised an eyebrow.

"Waiting? That doesn't sound like the Guys in White," Maddie commented. The doctor smiled at her.

"Legal loopholes and technicalities mean we can keep him here until I discharge him," she replied, and she gave a sigh. "But if you can, Mrs. Fenton, can you see what you can do? To keep him from having to go to the Guys in White?"

"I don't have anything that could help," Maddie told her with a helpless shrug. "The Guys in White have jurisdiction over us."

"There must be something," the surgeon frowned. "Isn't there any kind of ghost related laws? Or something?"

"I may just need to advise him to get a lawyer," Dr. Carrington mused to herself. "But I don't know how well that'd work. The Guys in White operate in a different kind of court system I think, like the military? Does that sound about right?"

"Why are you so worried about this anyway?" Maddie questioned. "Phantom's done terrible things."

"He's sixteen, Maddie," the doctor spoke quietly. "I have a daughter his age. He's just a kid doing his best. You can look at him and just...you can just kind of tell. I've had patients come in who were people he rescued from burning buildings and car accidents. Evil ghosts don't do that. Evil beings don't do that. He's been doing a lot of good, really working to make a change. I don't want to see the Guys in White hurting him for that."

Maddie thought about her own sixteen year old. Danny. He shared so many similarities with Phantom, it was scary. And it couldn't be a coincidence. Why hadn't he called her yet? Something was very wrong.

"I'll have to see what I can come up with," Maddie sighed. "But for now, what do we need to prepare?"

Dr. Carrington nodded, and she began to speak more in depth about the possible surgery plans. Maddie watched as the two doctors debated the best course of action. This was going to be a long night.

[shanghai-ohmy]

MaoMaoctober Day 24: Trickster

Welcome back, G-rated fics! In today’s fic, a string of thefts breaks out across Pure Heart Valley. Badgerclops is on the case. Mao Mao connects the dots. Snugglemagne is also there. Read it on AO3, or under the cut.

It was the third theft in a week, and it was even more brazen than the last two. Mao Mao stalked around the scene as Badgerclops and Adorabat placed down evidence markers. Sunlight streamed through the shattered glass of the skylight. Where there should have been a rich tapestry on the wall, there was now only empty space.

"Oh, it's absolutely horrible!" King Snugglemagne lamented, throwing his hand against his head dramatically. "My beautiful palace, vandalized! And my precious self-portrait, stolen!"

Badgerclops patted him on the back. "There there, it's not so- wait, SELF portrait? You weave?!"

The king turned his nose up indignantly. "I have many talents, thank you very much!"

Mao Mao slammed his fist on a nearby table, startling both of them. "It doesn't make any sense!" He glared at the bare wall. "What's the message? The motive? Why steal a prized tapestry from the king?"

"Political unrest?" Adorabat suggested.

"Raw, visceral attraction to the king's hot body?" Badgerclops posited.

Mao Mao shot him a withering look. He addressed Adorabat's theory instead. "That's a good instinct Adorabat, but it doesn't have enough backing. There haven't been any recent upsets, and King Snugglemagne is very popular with the sweetypies right now."

"Perhaps it wasn't a sweetypie at all," the king said nervously.

Mao Mao's eyes widened. "That's it! These aren't local crimes at all! Someone is trying to send me a message!"

"Hey man," Badgerclops interrupted, "I know it's like, your hunch and all, but why does the message have to be for you and not me? I used to hang out with literal thieves, remember?"

Mao Mao shushed him. "Badgerclops please, don't be ridiculous. This case could only be meant to challenge me, the legendary Mao Mao! It'll be my greatest investigation yet!"

Badgerclops huffed, crossing his arms.

"Um, Mao Mao?" Adorabat asked. "How do you solve a mystery?"

Mao Mao grinned. "Just watch me, Adorabat. You're about to find out." He swept out of the room, cape billowing behind him. Adorabat flew in his wake, dazzled.

A bright flash painted the room in stark white contrast. Badgerclops remained behind, photographing the crime scene. He carefully examined each piece of evidence. As he glanced over the shards of skylight glass, he noticed something out of place.

---

“The first thing you need to do is establish a motive,” Mao Mao explained. “Who would hate me enough to track down Pure Heart Valley and threaten the king?”

“The sky pirates?”

“It’s possible.” Mao Mao pinned a blurry photo of Orangusnake to the corkboard behind their office desk. Already up on the wall were newspaper clippings about the three thefts that had occurred, along with a map of the city. “But I suspect this crime is too high-minded for the sky pirates. This thief is playing games with us. Toying with us. And I can think of one tanuki who just loves to play games.” He pinned a photo of himself with Tanya Keys to the board and pointed at her face.

“But I thought she liked you again after we saved Badgerclops!”

Mao Mao sighed. “Tanya is a complicated woman, Adorabat. She could be sending me a message. Or she might have turned on us again. But she has all the right motives for revenge!”

“Umm… does she?”

“Of course! I mean, we… um, she and the king… hm.” Mao Mao put his hand on his chin, thinking.

“What about a bad guy you and Badgerclops fought from before you came here?”

“That’s it! Adorabat, you’re a genius!” Mao Mao flung open a desk drawer and began to sort through a pile of mugshots clipped from newspapers. “Let’s see, the Honeybee Bandits were released a few weeks ago, Red-Eyes Rex got out last month, The Scorcher really had it out for us when we put her away…” He mumbled to himself as he pulled out potential suspects. A few moments later, they were all pinned to the board. 

“Okay, Adorabat. Let’s narrow the field.” Mao Mao went criminal by criminal, explaining their methods and how he and Badgerclops had caught them. He and Adorabat argued over motive, modus operandi, and possible alibis for every one. After an exhaustive process, they’d narrowed it down to a field of four suspects.

“And now for the real work.” Mao Mao pulled a ball of red string from the desk.

“I thought you said it was time for work… why are you getting out your favorite ball of yarn?”

“Huh? Sorry Adorabat, what did you say? I was… distracted.” Mao Mao’s claws were out. There was string tangled between his fingers. His pupils quickly contracted again as he snapped out of it.

“ANYWAY, the board!” He turned his attention back to the suspects. “Hmm…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Hmm,” Adorabat mimicked, copying the motion too.

---

Badgerclops trailed the suspect carefully. It wasn’t easy work; he was huge compared to the sweetypies, and his fur pattern was very distinctive. Even Mail Mole could see him coming. So he’d requisitioned a car with tinted windows instead of following on foot. It was cramped, but effective. 

The target made a sharp turn into a park. Badgerclops swore. Had he been noticed? The car wouldn’t be able to follow in there. He had to make a choice: ditch the car and hoof it, or try to anticipate the suspect’s point of exit. Reluctantly, he parked. This was too close to over. He couldn’t risk losing the trail now. He’d make it work on foot, somehow. 

He slipped into the park. His suspect was nearly out of view, nothing more than a distant figure. But he couldn’t run; that would make his pursuit far too obvious. He followed at a distance, taking different paths and keeping trees between them. Sometimes he’d lose sight of the target, but never for long.

They exited the park. Badgerclops could feel it now. The thief’s stash was close. All he needed now was a chance.

---

“My god, Adorabat.” Mao Mao looked shell-shocked. “It goes all the way to the top.”

A tangle of red string criss-crossed the corkboard, a baffling series of connections twisting and angling around one another. Many of them converged to a newly-added picture of King Snugglemagne, a glamorous headshot adorned with his signature.

“It all makes sense now…” Mao Mao stepped back, awed at his own conclusion.

“Umm, can you please explain it one more time?”

Mao Mao sighed. “Adorabat, please. It’s very simple. King Snugglemagne faked the theft of his own self-portrait, along with the two earlier burglaries, because he’s under immense blackmail pressure from Red-Eye.” He traced his claw along the connecting string. “The details in these articles line up exactly with Falkestrasse’s Ten Behaviors of the Blackmailed-” he pointed to a sheet of paper that looked like it had been ripped from a textbook. “But the king doesn’t know that Red-Eye is actually Tanya Keys disguised as Red-Eye Rex. She’s scamming him for his fortune with a fake blackmail scheme. Of course, the king himself set up the blackmail as part of a-”

Before he could continue, Badgerclops kicked the front door open. “Yo, Mao Mao! Get the jail cell open!”

“Badgerclops?! What are you-”

“LET ME GO! I’LL KILL YOU ALL! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M CAPABLE OF!” Pinky wriggled fruitlessly in Badgerclops’s mechanical grasp, screaming at all three members of the sheriff’s department.

Mao Mao laughed. “Hah, I guess the mystery was too hard for you, huh Badgerclops? Back to arresting Pinky for petty crimes again?” He swung the jail cell open. “What was it this time?” He asked Pinky. “Steal another ice cream?”

Pinky spat at him. “I want my lawyer! It’s my tapestry! I already had it!”

“Tapestry?”

Badgerclops slammed the cell door shut and locked it. “Yeah Mao Mao, tapestry! The big thing that got stolen? Remember?”

“No, that’s… that’s not possible, Badgerclops!” Mao Mao laughed nervously. “It can’t be Pinky! I mean, look at the evidence!” He gestured to the unintelligible mass of string and paper pinned to the wall. “I figured it all out!”

“It’s actually very simple,” Adorabat explained. “You see-”

Badgerclops cut her off. “Adorabat, do you want to learn how to solve a mystery?”

She nodded.

“Step one, you review the evidence. You know, the ACTUAL evidence?” He dropped a manila folder on the table, fanning out an array of photographs from it. The crime scene was meticulously documented. “Before you go making any assumptions about how the crime is really all about you-” he glared pointedly at Mao Mao- “you need to examine everything thoroughly.” Badgerclops pulled out a photo and showed Adorabat. “This sliver of glass had a tiny bit of blood on it. AND: pink fur.”

Adorabat gasped.

“BEING PINK ISN’T A CRIME!” Pinky hollered from the jail cell.

“Dude shut up, I’m trying to have a parlor scene here!” Badgerclops walked over to the cage and pulled a tarp down over it, muffling the sound. “Ahem. Step two is to find a suspect. Obviously the pink fur was a major clue. Now it could be a red herring, laid by a clever criminal to misdirect us. But in this case, we already have the perfect perp.” He gestured towards the covered jail cell. “Pinky’s fur matches, he has the motive of being a generally horrible person, and he’s always been kinda weirdly into the king. It makes sense that he’d steal the tapestry.”

“Next you need to track your suspect down and see what you can find out about them. This part’s really important, even if you have the perfect suspect, because it might be a frame job. Now, Pinky is easy to find thanks to the general unpleasantness he inspires, so I was able to get on his trail within a few minutes. I tailed him for about an hour before he went for his stash. He slipped into a closed-up storefront, and when I followed him I found THIS!”

Badgerclops slapped a photo down on the table. What it depicted could only be described as a shrine. The tapestry hung proudly from a wall, flanked by candles and various Snugglemagne memorabilia. “Half of this stuff was filed as stolen goods, and you can see the two thefts from earlier this week in there too.” Badgerclops pointed out a couple of the objects. “Anyway, I secured the whole scene and took Pinky into custody. And now we’re here.” He folded his hands pleasantly.

Adorabat was starstruck.

Mao Mao cleared his throat. “Badgerclops, I… I’m impressed. That’s some top notch detective work.”

“But you had fun with your string, right?”

Mao Mao crossed his arms and fumed. “I was trying to be nice.”

Badgerclops patted him on the head. “I know. But you were kind of a jerk earlier, so…” Badgerclops stuck his tongue out. “I caught the bad guy and you didn’t! Ha ha!”

Mao Mao wanted to punch him, but he knew Badgerclops was right to gloat. He’d messed this one up pretty bad. “Yeah yeah, keep going. You were right and smart, I’m a dumb asshole, blah blah blah.”

Badgerclops’s eye softened. “You’re not dumb, Mao Mao. You just got carried away.” He kissed him on the forehead. Mao Mao blushed all the way up to his ears.

“You are an asshole though.”

[cobythinks]

I Don’t Do Soulmates || A Sanders Sides Soulmate AU

A/N: This is a long one, so most of it is under the cut. Also, be sure to check out my MASTERLIST.

Summary: Roman doesn’t do soulmates, even though he has three. Dalton doesn’t do soulmates because he doesn’t have any.  Despite Roman’s best efforts, though, it feels like he’s destined to meet his soulmates one day. That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Ships: Roceit, LoganxPattonxVirgil, platonic LAMP

WARNINGS: sympathetic Deceit, mentions of death, mentions of a car accident, food mention, swearing, depression, talk of self harm/suicidal thoughts. Nothing super explicit. Please stay safe!

Roman liked fairy tales. He always had. He loved the stories about the kings and the queens, knights, princesses that needed saving, evil stepmothers, fairy godmothers, dwarves, beasts, soulmates, and especially happy endings. When he was little, the bookshelves in his bedroom were dominated by various copies of the books and CD cases. His walls were covered in drawings of those stories - and sometimes stories of his own.

The day he found out that he was lucky enough to have three soulmates was the best day of his life. The thought that he could be a prince or a knight and protect someone who meant so much to him? That just fueled his creative energy into more. He’d write stories to his soulmates in bright red marker and pen, usually accompanied by illustrations.

Roman never once considered that most of his heroes had a tragic backstory. After all, that was just a story. Just something to make the stories more interesting. His life was fine - perfect even. He had three soulmates, more than anyone else he knew! Patton, who never seemed to use the same color of marker. Logan, who always used dark blue ballpoint pen. Virgil, who seemed to only own black and purple markers.

Even his parents only had each other, just one soulmate each. Unlike some antagonistic fairy tale parents, they were wonderful. They encouraged him in writing his stories - sloppily relayed to his soulmates across his arms and sometimes legs.

As far as fairytales go, Roman was sure he’d gotten the better end of the deal. He didn’t have a curse or a wicked stepmother, he had all the good.

At least… he did.

Roman was nine years old when it happened. It wasn’t anyone's fault, of course. Accidents like that happen all the time. It was January, and it was getting dark as they drove home from the movies on the backroads. No one could have seen the patch of black ice covering the road. No one could have stopped them from sliding, spinning off the road. No one, not even a prince from one of Roman’s stories, could have stopped his parents from dying.

After the crash, stricken with grief and confusion, Roman stopped writing to his soulmates. How was he supposed to protect people he’d never met if he couldn't even keep his own parents alive? He couldn't keep making them promises he’d never keep. So it would be best, he figured, to not. At least for a little while.

A little while turned into eight years.

“Roman, get your lazy ass out of bed!” Roman groaned, rolling out onto the floor. “Now! The bus will be here in five minutes and I am not driving you again!”

“Okay! God, Aunt Rina,” Roman muttered under his breath as he pulled himself standing, glancing with a frown at his mirror. He’d fallen asleep in his clothes again, not wanting to change and see the messages written there.

Not that he didn’t read them. Roman smiled sadly, pulling at his wrist to examine an intricate flower in black and purple. He read all the messages he got from his soulmates. He never replied. They didn’t deserve that. They’d stopped trying to directly contact him years ago, Roman wasn’t even sure if they remembered.

“ROMAN!”

“OKAY!” Roman yelled irritably, grabbing his backpack. One plus side of accidentally sleeping in his clothes and shoes, he could just leave his aunt's house as soon as he woke up. He hurried through the kitchen, avoiding looking at his aunt.

“Hey,” Roman sighed and lifted his head to look at her. She sighed. “Breakfast.” Roman caught the banana she threw at him and turned without replying, hurrying down the street to the bus stop. He stuck the banana in his backpack, halfheartedly planning to eat it at lunch.

His aunt wasn’t a bad person… they just didn’t get along. They never had, and it probably didn’t help that Roman had three soulmates he refused to contact. She had none. So, it was natural she’d be bitter and angry about it.

Roman slipped into the backseat of the bus and pulled up his sleeve, smiling fondly at the poem written in dark blue ink. Even after all these years, they used the same colors. Virgil with his purple and black - eternally edgy. Patton continued to supply different kinds of inks and colors - some complete with glitter. Roman sighed and pulled the sleeve back down, looking up moodily as someone else got on at the next spot.

He didn’t recognize them, they must be new. It was the beginning of a term. Roman sighed, watching as the kid looked around. Then they locked eyes, and for some god-forsaken reason he smiled and walked over, sitting across the aisle from Roman.

“Hey,” Roman grudgingly smiled. No reason to be rude - this guy hadn’t ever done anything to him. “You’re new, right?”

“Uh…” The kid shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’m Dalton.”

“Roman.” Roman ran a hand through his hair. “Nice to meet you.”

“I guess.” Dalton sighed and shook his head. “You too.” Roman nodded, looking down as the pink Crayola marker traced the outline of a few hearts on the back of his hand. He shoved it into the pocket of his jacket, planning to check the finished design once he was alone.

“Are you in drama?” Dalton suddenly asked. Roman looked over in surprise, nodding.

“Uh.. yeah. How’d you know?”

“Your jacket…” Dalton shrugged sheepishly. Oh yeah, he was wearing the hoodie from the play last year. Roman smiled. “Is it hard? I kinda wanted to try out, but I’ve never really acted before…”

“You should do it,” Roman said, turning to face him better. “It’s really cool, and I think you’d do well.” Dalton frowned.

“You just met me.”

“Yeah,” Roman shrugged and looked at the floor. “Anyway, where’d you move from?”

“Oh, just a few towns over.” Dalton sighed. “I came to live with my mom and her new husband, and his kids. Long story.”

“Hey,” Roman held up his hands. “You don’t have to tell me, we’ve all got long stories.” Dalton smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roman looked at the back of his hand and smiled fondly at it.

Four hearts in a group covered most of it, and Patton seemed to be highlighting them with all different colors. Purple, navy blue, and sky blue… and red. Roman looked away and put his hands back in his pockets. Dalton didn’t seem to have noticed, he had turned to look out the window as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Do you have your schedule?” Roman asked with a sigh, grabbing his bag and standing.

“Uh…” Dalton rifled through his pockets and pulled out a folded paper. Yeah. “Logan just graduated last year, he made me a map…”

“Cool.” Roman tried not to think about the poem on his arm when he heard the name. Logan was a common name. “He’s…”

“My step-brother,” Dalton said as they slowly made their way to the front. “Like I said,”

“Long story.” Roman grinned. “Who do you have for first period?”

“Mr. Corey,” Dalton frowned. “Math. why did I decide to have math in first- nevermind.”

“I have him second,” Roman said. Dalton nodded, then smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry I’ve kinda bugged you all morning, uh… but thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Roman, threw an arm around the other kids' shoulders. “I’ll show you where Mr. Corey’s room is.”

“You sit alone?” Roman’s head jerked up from where he’d been reading Virgil’s to-do list. He yanked his sleeves down when he saw Dalton. Dalton slid down the wall next to him, pulling out a paper bag.

“Uh, yeah,” Roman shrugged. “Gotta fill the quota for teenage brooding, y’know?”

“But like, you don’t have any friends?” Dalton seemed completely surprised. Roman frowned.

“I mean…”

“You just seemed like the popular kind of jock guy. Theater guy.” He corrected as an afterthought, pulling out a sandwich.

“Well, not everything is obvious.” Roman sighed, then dramatically pouted. “Are you saying you aren’t my friend?”

“Hey-” Dalton frowned. “That’s not fair, dude, come on!” Roman laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m kidding. Geez. You don’t have to sit with me.”

“I want to,” Dalton shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. Roman watched him for a moment, then remembered his own lunch. The projectile banana from Aunt Rina. He sighed and grudgingly pulled it out, Virgil’s handwriting flashing through his mind.

‘Remember to eat’ he was always writing things like that. ‘Water is actually important.’ Whether it was for himself, or for his soulmates, Roman didn’t know. And he certainly never planned on asking.

“What do you have after lunch?” Roman asked as he peeled the fruit.

“Creative Writing,” Dalton replied. “You?”

“Do you have Bird?” Roman asked, face lighting up. Dalton pulled out the wrinkled paper, transferring Dorito crumbs onto it, then nodded. “Well, that’s at least one class we both have.”

“You write?” Dalton’s face lit up. “That’s cool!”

“I mean…” Roman shrugged and rubbed the spot where Logan’s poem still remained on his skin. “Kindof. I like to, but I don’t know if I’m good.”

“I’m horrible,” Dalton said matter of factly. Roman frowned.

“I refuse to believe that.” he declared.

“I am!” Dalton laughed. “I mean… I might not be horrible. But I’m not good. I’m nothing like…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Logan hates it when I compare myself to him. I can’t help it. Did you know he graduated a year early? He’s the same age as me, but he’s already graduated!”

“...yeah?” Roman tried to ignore thoughts of scribbled conversations between his soulmates. Talking about grades and accelerated programs in that dark blue ink. “Well, you shouldn’t compare yourself.”

“You haven’t read his poems,” Dalton put his sandwich down.

“Do you have any poems of your own?” Roman asked. “I don’t care about Logan, I’ve never met him. I want to read yours.”

“You… you do?” Dalton stared at him for a moment before he sighed. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You could stop talking to me, and we’ve only known each other a day. Wouldn’t be that devastating.”

“What, you don’t find me absolutely charming?” Roman grinned. Dalton rolled his eyes, then pulled out a notebook and flipped forward a few pages.

“Just don’t make fun of me, okay?”

“Would a prince charming ever make fun of someone like you?” Roman joked, accepting it. Dalton chuckled.

“Prince charming, huh?”

Roman didn’t respond, eyes skating over the words on Dalton’s page. He was good, which meant he had really bad self-esteem or that Logan guy was amazing. Maybe as amazing as the one who used blue ink. He quickly banished the thoughts and looked up, grinning.

“This is great! Mr. Bird is going to love you.” He declared, passing it back as the bell rang. Dalton smiled, shoving the notebook into his bag as fast as he could.

“I want to read some of yours eventually,” he declared as they stood up. Roman shook his head.

“I don’t write poetry. I write stories.”

“Well, I wanna read your story.”

“You will, we’re required to peer edit in Birds class anyway,” he explained.

“You know what I mean,” Dalton laughed anyway. “Show me the way, then, Prince Charming.”

Roman ignored the slight flush to his cheeks when Dalton said that and nodded, turning into the English hall. What right did he have to think about this kid when he ignored his own soulmates, anyway?

Roman sighed, staring down at his bare arms. Well, no sleeves. They were in no way bare. Virgil’s morning to-do list was faded, and at the moment being ‘bedazzled’ with glitter gel pens in gold and silver. On the other arm, the poem had grown. Roman knew it had been open-ended, but he hadn’t realized it was just unfinished.

It was beautiful.

Everything they did was beautiful. Their drawings, Logan’s poems, just the way they talked to each other. They did more when they were younger before they exchanged phone numbers and started talking that way. Roman closed his eyes to block out the marks.

He didn’t want to talk to them. He’d just let them down. It was best that he hadn’t let a pen touch his skin in years. It was best that he just… avoided it. He couldn't break a promise he didn’t make.

And then there was Dalton. Roman sighed, running his hands through his hair. Someone who didn’t think Roman was weird, who didn’t know he was a depressed orphan who spent a summer in a mental health facility because he wanted to see his parents again. Dalton didn’t know. And Roman didn’t know about his past, they didn’t know each other's long stories. That was the best part about being friends with Dalton. The past didn’t matter.

Roman opened his eyes again and stared at the hearts on the back of his hand. They were beautiful. What started out as some kind of doodle - probably because he got bored during school as always - had somehow become some kind of 3D masterpiece. It was beautiful.

And there were four hearts. Roman ran a thumb over it, smiling sadly. Patton remembered him. There was no other reason to draw four hearts. God, why did he have to care so much? Roman buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. Why did he have soulmates? How could he have one soulmate? Let alone three! It didn’t make any sense! It had never made any sense.

“Hey, your aunt said you were-” Roman’s head jerked up in surprise. Dalton stood awkwardly in the open door. “Uh… sorry. You left your phone in the drama room, and…”

“Th-thanks.” Roman got up, letting his hair fall over his eyes to try and disguise the tears. “Sorry, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s okay.” Dalton shrugged. “Uh… are you good? Sorry I barged in, your aunt said it’d be okay.”

“It’s fine.” Roman snapped, tossing his phone onto the bed. Dalton frowned. “Sorry, D, you just came over at a bad time.”

“Sorry about that,” Dalton said quickly.

“Don’t be.” Roman grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. “What’s up?”

“Logan’s being an ass.” Dalton declared, leaning against the doorway. Roman snickered, turning to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He met one of his soulmates last week and ever since then he’s been super weird. Now the guy’s at our house and… yeah.”

“Oh.” Roman pulled the sleeves of his jacket down to cover his hands. “Sorry about that, buddy.”

“It’s okay.” Damien walked over and sat on the bed next to him. “I don’t care about soulmates, the guy’s just annoying. He keeps trying to hug me.”

“Wow, what a horrible thing,” Roman said sarcastically. Dalton rolled his eyes.

“Okay, whatever.”

“I don’t do soulmates either,” Roman mumbled.

“Well, guess we can complain about Logan together.” Dalton laughed, bumping him with his shoulder. Roman chuckled, nodding.

“Sounds perfect. You can come complain about him, and I can listen and nod slowly and agree.” He declared.

“What, you don’t have anything to complain about?” Dalton asked skeptically. “Like your crazy aunt who eats chocolate covered bugs?” Roman groaned.

“I told her that was disgusting.”

“It’s okay. You can complain about the bugs, I’ll complain about the step-brother. It all evens out.”

“Well, you’re better at math than me so that sounds right.”

Logan and Patton met. Roman didn’t care. At least, he tried not to care. But how could he not care? Why did he have to keep getting their marks if he didn’t want them? Why did they happen to meet at the same time as Dalton’s stupid step-brother and his? Why did he have to be so certain that Dalton’s stupid step-brother was his soulmate?

Roman sighed, staring at the ceiling.

He doesn’t do soulmates. He’d decided that… well, he never necessarily decided that. He just didn’t want to talk to them. He didn’t want to meet them. He didn’t want to disappoint them. It was inevitable that if he contacted them, he’d disappoint them. Besides… he didn’t need a soulmate. He had a friend - for the first time in years. And that was fine.

If only there was a way to get rid of the marks.

He’d spent the past three hours googling it, and he had nothing. According to science, there was no way to get rid of the connection between soulmates. He was stuck with it, and it was stupid.

“How’s that ceiling looking?”

“Ugh, I’m trying to brood Dalton come on.” Roman sat up, frowning. “How long have you-”

“I didn’t want Rita to offer me another weird snack.” Dalton shrugged. “Anyway, what are you brooding about?”

“Nothing.” Roman barely got the words out before a pillow smacked him in the face. “Hey!”

“Cut the crap, you dummy,” Dalton demanded, holding the pillow threateningly. Roman squinted at him. “What the hell is going on with you? You’re lucky enough to have three soulmates and you claim you ‘don't do soulmates’? You’ve been googling all about them for days now.” Roman sat with his mouth partway open, surprised. “I rant to you about my crap. Can't you just… talk for fifteen minutes about whatever it is?”

“...I don’t get it.”

“What’s wrong, dumbass.”

Roman sighed, shaking his head.

“How do you know I have three soulmates?” he asked. Dalton rolled his eyes and pulled Roman’s jacket off.

“Three handwritings,” he said softly. “Different colors. Come on, I’m not an idiot. Logan has two, and… wait.” Roman tried to pull his arm away but Dalton pulled it closer. “What the hell?”

“D, listen, I-”

“This is Logan’s handwriting. And Patton’s. What the hell is going on, Roman?” Dalton shoved Roman’s arm and got up, folding his arms. “My step-brother is one of your soulmates?”

“No.” Roman pulled his jacket back on and stood up. “I mean… yeah. It doesn’t matter, though. I told you before that I don’t do-”

“You don’t do soulmates, I get it!” Dalton yelled. “I don’t either. Know why? I don’t have any soulmates! You have three! I drew on my arms all the time until I was fifteen just trying to get someone to respond! You’re an idiot!”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Roman spread his hands miserably. “I never asked for soulmates… I don’t want to meet them! I haven’t drawn on my skin in years because I don’t care. Okay?” Dalton sighed, burying his face in his hands.

“I just… when you first said you didn’t do soulmates…I thought you were like me. I thought, that maybe, we could be actual friends. But…”

“I don’t have soulmates.” Roman insisted. Dalton looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Okay? Just… I just have whatever they draw. On my skin. Like soulmates. But they aren’t. Please stop yelling at me.”

Dalton just looked at him, and Roman looked back.

“Logan has been studying soulmates for years.” Dalton finally said. “If there is anyone who can get rid of them, it would be him. I’ll ask.”

“Wait- really?” Roman stared at him. He couldn't tell if the feeling in his chest was sadness or elation. It was just something. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Dalton scoffed. “When you get Logan talking, he never stops.”

“Thanks.” Roman wrapped his friend in a hug and Dalton laughed, returning it. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah well, you better believe it. I’m gonna have to listen to all Logan’s crap to find this out for you.” Dalton laughed.

“I owe you,” Roman said enthusiastically. “I will get you five boxes of chocolate covered crickets.”

“If you do that, I’m gonna cut your hair off,” Dalton said, shoving Roman away playfully. Roman frowned but nodded.

“Okay, no crickets. I’ll think of something!”

“But before I go back to my house, where I’ll be forced to hear many many things that are irrelevant to the question I’ll ask, let’s go do something actual people do.”

“Everyone stares at the ceiling all day,” Roman said, waving a hand dismissively. Dalton rolled his eyes.

“Your aunt said she’d bring us snacks in fifteen minutes and if we aren’t gone I’m jumping out the window.” He said, turning to the door.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Roman chuckled. “Bye Aunt Rina!”

“Don’t get hit by a car.”

“So, you’re saying that hypothetically, you want to know how to cut off a soulmate bond?” Logan asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Hypothetically,” Dalton said, smiling winningly. “I figured you’d know, you’re almost an expert.”

“D…” Logan shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out for ages, too.” Dalton frowned.

“You just wanna know everything, cuz you’re an ass.” Logan sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Look, Dalton, I want to know the same thing you do. But scientifically, biologically, even spiritually which is a load of shit but I still looked into it, there should be no reason you stop having a connection with your soulmate.” Logan shook his head. “Why do you care? You don’t have a soulmate!” Dalton scowled, stepping back.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I-”

“Shut up, you fu-”

“Dalton, I’m sorry!” Logan yelled, grabbing his arm. “I know you’re upset about that, and I get it. But no one can control soulmates. Anomalies happen, and that’s why Ro- and that’s why no one understands it.” Dalton frowned.

“I was asking for a friend,” he said, pulling away from his step-brother’s hands. “Because unlike everyone else on earth, he knows that soulmates are stupid!” Dalton stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Logan had been about to say a name, and he knew which one. How did he know who Roman was if they’d never met? If Roman hadn’t written to them in years? Dalton hurried down the street toward Roman’s house. He had to figure this out, he had to figure this out before he got in too deep. Before he got his hopes up.

“Hey Dalton,” Rina said when he walked through the door. “I didn’t hear you knock.”

“Where’s Roman?”

“Where do you think?” Dalton ran down the hall and slammed open the door.

“Holy shit-” Roman scrambled to get up from where he sat on the floor. “Dalton?”

“What are you-” Dalton’s eyes flew immediately to Roman’s hands. He scowled. “Roman!”

“What?” Roman asked bitterly, tossing the pocketknife onto his bed.

“What the hell are you doing!” Dalton stormed over and grabbed Roman’s arms, glaring at the handwriting scrawled across it in purple. The sentence severed in several places, and Dalton glared up at his friend.

“Listen, you can’t do this.”

“Go away.”

“No.” Dalton shoved Roman into the desk chair and pulled open a drawer, rifling through it. Of course, Roman had a stash of bandages in there too. “How many times do I have to tell you-you're-”

“An idiot! I know!” Roman snapped. “I’m sorry, okay? I just hate seeing Virgil’s stupid…” he shook his head and Dalton sighed. “Nevermind.”

“Logan knows your fucking name,” Dalton said, pressing the bandages over Roman’s arm.

“What are you talking about?”

“I asked him about the soulmate thing,” Dalton said, walking to the bed to pick up the knife. “And he got really upset. Logan doesn’t get upset. Apparently, he’s researched soulmates for a specific reason that he didn’t specifically tell me because he stopped himself halfway through saying ‘Roman’.”

“Yeah right.”

“So what’s your deal?”

“I just…” Roman shook his head and Dalton raised an eyebrow. “I can never talk to them. Okay?”

“...okay.” Dalton sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Please don’t do it again, Roman.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman muttered, rubbing the bandages. “I just…usually, no one cares.”

“Well I do, so stop being…” Dalton took a deep breath. “Please.”

“Okay, whatever.” Roman pulled on his jacket, concealing both the bandages and the Muriel covering his right arm.

Dalton leaned against his desk, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. He was always making things worse. But now, this time, he really didn’t want to make things worse.

“Why do you care?” Roman asked softly. Dalton sighed and looked up at him, offering a small smile.

“Cuz I’m in love with you, dumbass.”

Somehow, Roman was less bothered by the marks on his skin than ever. He barely noticed them, most of the time. He kept his arms covered - though sometimes their doodles would creep onto his hands, but he didn’t mind. After all, who needed a soulmate when you had a boyfriend who wasn’t fated to love you anyway? It was still difficult because Roman did care about the people writing on his arms. But he didn’t have to be involved with them, right? He could still laugh at the puns Patton might scribble in green marker, he could still use Virgil’s to-do list as his own if he was having trouble. He could still read Logan’s poetry, though it wasn’t as good as Dalton’s.

“We’re out of milk.” Roman sighed, slamming the fridge shut.

“I live a block away, let’s just make cereal there,” Dalton said, standing up with his bowl. Roman snickered.

“Do you have milk? What if we walk all the way there and you guys are out too?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Dalton rolled his eyes.

“We always have milk cuz I’m the only one that drinks it. My step-dad is lactose intolerant.”

“Let’s go.” Roman grabbed his own bowl and Dalton chuckled. “We’re going out, Aunt Rina!”

“Have fun and don’t murder anyone!” Rina yelled back. Roman rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but grin as he and Dalton walked down the sidewalk. He grabbed Dalton’s hand, ignoring his boyfriend’s protests.

“It’s fine,” he promised. Dalton raised an eyebrow. Roman grinned. “We’re just two soulless guys who happen to be dating, right?” Dalton rolled his eyes.

“Right.”

Dalton led the way up the front steps and into the kitchen, where he put the bowl down and pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge.

“Tada! I was right.”

“I didn’t doubt you,” Roman scoffed. Dalton laughed, pouring his milk before doing Roman’s as well. “Aw, for me? You’re too kind.”

“Dalton?” both looked up when someone poked their head into the room. He was tall and pale, with black hair and glasses. Roman knew it was Logan, he had a purple grocery list on his left arm. “I thought you were going to be at your boyfriend’s house.”

“We were out of milk,” Roman said, lifting his bowl. Logan stared at him, lips pursed.

“Don't worry, geez.” Dalton waved a hand. “We aren’t gonna bug you guys. I told you soulmates are stupid.”

“Good.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “We’ll be in the living room, you can manage to stay out of that room can’t you?”

“Yeah.” Dalton looked at Roman and rolled his eyes, Roman chuckled. Logan sighed and left, shaking his head. “...that’s Logan. I told you he was an ass.”

“I still believe you,” Roman promised. “You’re stuck with me, understand?”

“Thank god.” Roman glanced toward the hallway when the doorbell rang, but Logan answered it almost immediately. Dalton chuckled, elbowing him as they heard a chipper voice start to ramble. Roman wasn’t really listening until he heard him say;

“And this is Virgil!” Roman stiffened, and Dalton gently leaned his head on Roman’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly. Roman frowned. What exactly was he referring to? He opened his mouth to ask, but then the owner of that chipper voice bounced into the kitchen.

“Hey Dalton!” he said, beaming. “Oh! And Dalton’s handsome friend!”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Dalton said, narrowing his eyes. Patton laughed - it had to be Patton.

“Awe! Hi, I’m Patton!” yep, it was Patton alright. Roman smiled, nodding politely.

“Patton, Dalton promised not to bug us, and-” Logan sighed as he walked into see Patton trying to hug both Roman and Dalton at the same time.

Roman pushed him away, feeling his heart race. This was not a good time to be at Dalton’s house, obviously. Shit, he never wanted to meet his soulmates and now all three of them happened to be here.

“Oh, sorry!” Patton chuckled, stepping back.

“It’s fine,” Roman said in a soft voice. Dalton took his hand, smiling supportively. Roman frowned. What was with him right now?

“Well, I guess you've met Patton.” Logan sighed. “This is Virgil, he’s our... other soulmate.” He walked in, followed by a short teenager with purple hair and a black jacket. Just like Virgil would most definitely look.

“This is my boyfriend,” Dalton said as he squeezed Roman’s hand. “Roman.” Roman’s head swiveled and he narrowed his eyes. Dalton just smiled back sadly. The other three just stood there for a moment.

“...that’s a nice name.” Patton finally said. “I’ve always liked it, anyway.” Roman self consciously rubbed his arm through his jacket sleeve, knowing that a purple grocery list was on his arm just like the other three.

“Yeah, well,” Roman shrugged. What else could he say? He looked back at Dalton, who was obviously trying to convey silently that he should do something. But Roman had no idea what it might be.

“Erm, anyway,” Logan chuckled nervously as Dalton’s eyes flicked between Roman and the group of others. Roman scowled. Dalton could not be serious. They were dating for crying out loud! “Nice to meet you, Roman. Dalton’s boyfriend.”

“Dude.” Dalton hissed. Roman glared at him.

“Let’s just pop in here,” Patton was obviously forcing a smile as they all went to the living room. Roman turned to Dalton.

“What the hell!” he hissed. “Dalton, what was that!”

“Roman, they’re your-” Roman raised an eyebrow and Dalton lowered his voice. “They’re your soulmates. You should at least tell them.”

“No, are you crazy?” Roman shook his head. “I can’t. I told you that a month ago, D!”

“What did they ever do to you?” Dalton demanded. “I just want you to make sure you’re happy, okay! I care about you!”

“Then why did you try that?” Roman demanded.

“Soulmates are real, Roman. They’re a thing. We’re really close, but I know you wish you could be with them! I’ve always known!”

“No, I don’t.” Roman insisted. Dalton frowned, folding his arms.

“Why?”

“They’d be disappointed,” Roman said, repeating the lie he’d told himself for years. Dalton snorted. “They probably don’t even remember me and-”

“You know they do. You saw their faces when I said your name!”

“Well, I don’t care!” Roman yelled, pushing Dalton away from him. Dalton stared at him, eyes filled with hurt. “You don’t get it, Dalton. I can’t risk letting them down!”

“How can you let them down if they don’t even know you?”

“I just will. It’s inevitable.” Roman sighed, burying his face in his hands. Neither of them seemed to realize they’d been shouting, and that it had attracted the others back to the doorway. “Besides, I’m as good as dead to them. I haven’t let ink or paint touch my skin since I was nine years old.”

“Roman-”

“I’m serious! You said it didn’t matter! You said that we didn’t need soulmates, so why are you doing this?”

“ROMAN!” Dalton grabbed his wrist and shook his head, pointing to the doorway. Roman turned, eyes widening. All three of them stood there, looks of shock on their faces. Roman pulled away from Dalton and shoved past them, refusing to make eye contact. He tried to say something to his boyfriend as he left, but it was like his voice stopped working. So he just left, and as soon as he left he started running to get as far away from there as he could.

“Roman!” Dalton went to run after him but Logan grabbed his arm.

“Dalton, what’s going on?”

“Let go, you fucking asshole!” Dalton yelled, karate chopping his stepbrother in the arm.

“Language!” Patton said indignantly. Dalton rolled his eyes.

“Dalton!” Logan tightened his hold and Dalton sighed, glaring at him. “Tell me right now what you know about this.” Dalton closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I can’t.”

“It’s obvious. Let him go.” Virgil said, pulling Logan away. “Your step-brother is dating our soulmate. Duh.”

“...why? How? What?!” Logan’s voice rose in volume with every word. “Dalton, how long have you known that?”

“Since the universe was created,” Dalton said sarcastically. “Can I go? Roman’s upset.”

“At you.” Logan pointed out. Dalton glared at him.

“Hey, why don’t we all calm down?” Patton said softly, stepping between them. “Dalton? Can you please talk to us?”

“Roman was my friend,” Dalton said softly. “Then he was my boyfriend. I’d seen all Logan’s marks often enough to figure it out. So we talked. Roman…” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Whatever you guys did when you were kids made him hate you or something.”

“What? We didn’t do anything!” Virgil snapped. “He’s the one who just disappeared.”

“I don’t know!” Dalton shoved past Logan, shaking his head. “But he’s my boyfriend, not yours! So I’m going to go find him to make sure he’s okay!” he took off, running to the street. He couldn't see Roman. He had no idea which way Roman went.

“Dalton, please!” Logan said from the porch. Dalton didn’t turn around to flip the bird, then decided Roman wouldn’t want to be found, so he sprinted away from both their houses. He turned left, running up the street. “Dalton!” Dalton kept running, trying to hold back tears. He had to find Roman before he did something stupid. God… what if Roman was going to do something stupid?

Dalton didn’t stop when Logan’s car pulled up next to him. Where would Roman go? He wouldn’t go back to his aunts' house, he hated it there. He might have run to the high school to hang at the theater… maybe?

“Dalton!” the car pulled in front of him and Dalton stumbled to a halt, glaring at the people inside.

“What?”

“Let us help you.” Patton leaned out the window. “We can find him faster driving, okay? We aren’t going to steal your boyfriend.” Dalton narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah right.”

“We just want to make sure Roman’s okay.” Virgil piped up, opening the back door. “Get in, and tell us where he could be.” Why Dalton trusted Virgil more, he wasn’t sure. But he clambered into Logan’s car anyway.

“I don’t really know,” he confessed. “When Roman’s upset we usually just go for a walk. But he’s mad at me this time. I’d check the high school theater.”

“On it.” Logan hit the gas and drove toward the high school. “While we’re driving, can you please explain why Roman hates us?”

“I don’t know. It’s not my business,” Dalton shrugged. “But he doesn’t hate you. He just… doesn’t want to meet you. He doesn’t like the idea of soulmates.”

“Really?” Patton asked sadly. “When we were kids he seemed so excited about us, and then one day he just stopped writing. He used to write stories to us, like fairy tales.”

“I don’t know!” Dalton snapped, glaring at him. “We just need to find him before he…” oh god. Please don’t let Roman try anything.

Roman stared blankly down at his arms, where yellow writing appeared a few minutes ago. At first, he’d thought it was Patton. But it wasn’t. It was one of Dalton’s poems. He must be writing on one of the others. Roman reached up and brushed tears out of his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. He’d been about to cut again - but he couldn't break one of Dalton’s poems. Was that why he was doing this? Classic. Why did Dalton care, anyway? How could he care if he didn’t have to, according to fate?

“Stupid Dalton,” Roman muttered, then felt horrible. Dalton wasn't stupid, he was Roman’s best friend. More than that, his boyfriend. So why did he do what he did? Why did he tell them he was the fourth soulmate? It wasn’t fair. Roman didn’t want this. He didn’t want anything.

“Roman!” Roman’s head jerked up and he stared in surprise as Dalton tumbled out of a car, sprinting across the parking lot. “What are you doing here?”

“...sitting.” Roman sighed and looked around the strip mall.

How did he end up here, of all places? Dalton fell to his knees next to him and grabbed Roman’s arms, inspecting them worriedly. There was nothing but the healing scars from the month before. Roman sighed sadly.

“I’m so sorry.” Dalton suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. Roman’s eyes widened, but he returned it. “I know you didn’t want to meet them, but I thought…. I thought it might make you happy if you just tried. I just want you to be happy.”

“It’s okay.” Roman sighed softly. “I… I don’t mind meeting them. But I still love you… you know?”

“You do?” Dalton sat back and grinned, wiping tears from his cheeks. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re stuck with me.” Roman repeated, then looked over Dalton’s shoulder to where his three soulmates were standing near the car. He lowered his voice. “Do they hate me?”

“No one hates you.” Dalton scoffed, sitting against the wall like he had that first day in the cafeteria. “They’re just worried. Virgil let me write to you, y’know.” Roman looked at his arms, nodding.

“Thanks. I’ve always loved your poems.”

“Do you want to talk to them at all?” Dalton asked softly. Roman scowled.

“I’m not gonna break up with you unless you want me to.” he insisted. “So yeah, I can talk to them. And you don’t have to worry. Alright?”

“Sounds good.” Dalton looked over at the others and nodded. The three of them walked over and sat down, completing a circle on the sidewalk.

“Hi,” Roman said softly, staring at his hands.

“It’s so good to meet you!” Patton said, beaming. Roman smiled.

“You gave us quite a scare,” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Dalton was very upset.”

“Like you weren’t.” Virgil scoffed, elbowing him. “Anyway, Roman. I’m just glad you’re okay. I always wondered what happened to you.”

“Oh, that,” Roman sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t mean to vanish… I just took a break from writing and never… finished the break.”

“That’s alright,” Logan said matter of factly. “Statistically, only sixty percent of soulmates ever meet or actually enter any kind of relationship. Half of those people remain only platonic soulmates.” Roman smiled.

“Well good, cuz I’m taken,” he said, elbowing Dalton. Dalton elbowed him back, harder. “Hey!”

“You started it.” Dalton shrugged. Roman chuckled.

“Anyway, I’m sorry for vanishing. Just got in a funk.”

“Well,” Logan stood and brushed off his pants. “Would you like a ride home? You walked quite far.”

“Sure.” they all stood now, and Dalton took Roman’s hand as they walked to Logan’s car. “Thanks, really.”

“No thanks needed,” Logan waved a hand. “Just don’t hurt Dalton or I will run you over with this instead of giving you a ride.” Roman’s eyes widened.

“Okay, geez.”

“Wow, you care about me?” Dalton laughed as they got in.

“Of course I do.” Logan scoffed. “Just because I am, as you so eloquently put it, ‘an ass’ does not mean I don’t care about you.”

“Good to know,” Dalton muttered, leaning his head on Roman’s shoulder. “Hey, why don’t we go hang out at your house Roman? I bet your aunt has some good bugs to serve as snacks.”

“Oh my god.” Roman glared at him. “You know those are disgusting.”

“I don’t want to know what you’re talking about.” Virgil declared, shaking his head. Dalton laughed, smirking up at Roman. Roman smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Maybe things would turn out okay after all.

The End

[covirusgame]

Hi! Need to escape the utter boringness of a minor apocalypse?

Have you consumed countless works of fiction depicting a massive disaster menacing all of humanity? Did you ever think you will ever live inside such a story? Isn’t all of this really weird to you?

Is the world ending? No? Yeah, but is society collapsing? What? Not more than usual? I see... But capitalism is definitely kicking the bucket right? Right? Oh... Well at least we have a virus spreading globally, so we are all isolated in our homes with nothing but our infinite minds and an infinite internet of things to do.

And sure, the pandemic is a sad, horrifying thing that is spreading suffering everywhere. The situation is dire for countless people and the more vulnerable among us are the ones that risk the most. We must all protect us and others, trust in the power of science and community and just get through it.

But we are humans! We adapt, we fight, we find solutions! And we laugh in the face of death, and find the ridiculous in the tragic. We make memes out of indescribable pain. We still listen to music when bombs fall on our cities. We make love in stolen moments during an uprising. And last but not least we make and play games.

So here is a little game I devised so that you, your grandparents and your kids can pass the time in this weird time we are all living in. Maybe in a month it will be entirely useless. Maybe it will take a year or more for a cure and the return to normalcy. In the meantime we can have some fun or at least waste some time together.

The game is called Covirus and is and forever will be free. After all we can all agree that nobody should pay anything for a cure to coronavirus when we will find it, so why should there be money in a single page of rules for a silly time-waster?

It’s also untested and brand new, but you can participate in its development by sending me feedback and suggestions. Please be kind, I never did anything like this and am very awkward with people. Let’s call the current version of the rules “Alpha 0.1″, then if there will be any improvements I will update this blog.

Without further ado, here are the rules:

1. Have fun together and safely! If you have reason to isolate yourself completely you can still play with others through a videocall or similar methods. Kinda like chess wonks exchanging messages with their moves and gloating underwhelmingly when they win.

2. You need:

A piece of paper, preferably of the squared kind. A whiteboard can do if you're willing to draw the playfield squares.

A couple of differently colored pencils, pens or markers. Pencils have an obvious advantage: you can erase mistakes.

A couple of six-sided dice. You can steal them from a monopoly box. Eat the rich! Or you can kinda make some folding and gluing paper or something. Or you can download a dice roller for roleplaying games. Whatever works for you!

A reason to be stuck playing this game instead of going out to eat pizza and hug someone cute. Like a pandemic. Or a family reunion. It's gonna be fine. No, You Are Wrong! ITSNOTONFIRE!!! ... Just play the game will ya?

3. It's a two player game and it's played on a 20 by 40 squares field. Player 1 starts from one of the shorter sides and Player 2 from the other.

4. Each player rolls a die to determine order of play. Whoever gets the highest number gets to start first (and be the virus) and the other player follows (and is the cure). Don't be mean to people that are the virus or have the virus. Just don't be mean generally. Really...

5. You play in turns and you throw the dice. The numbers that come out of the throw determine what you do according to the following list:

Any combination of non identical numbers gives you a shape to put somewhere on you side of the field. Let's say you roll a 4 and a 2? Draw in your color a 4 by 2 squares rectangle. If it is your first move it can go anywhere in the bottom line, if it's not it must be on the bottom line or adjacent to your other shapes. You can only draw on unoccupied squares.

If you roll a double 6 you get to fill an entire line with you color, even if you already filled some of those squares. You can only choose lines that already have some squares with your color and you can’t choose one that has squares with your adversary’s color. If no eligible lines are present you lose the turn!

If you roll a double 1 you fill a single unfilled square anywhere you want!

If you roll any other double number you don't get a rectangle. Multiply the two numbers together to get a number of contiguous squares to fill as you like! Obviously you still can only fill unoccupied squares.

You lose the turn every time you can’t follow the previous rules according to the dice you rolled.

6. You both take turns rolling dice and filling squares until there is no more space on the field and there are no more moves or it is clear that continuing will change nothing. Or you are freed from isolation and can return to your life.

7. The player that manages to fill the most lines completely wins!

8. That's it! Play again!

We’re done for now. Spread the game, don’t spread the virus and let me know your thought about this weird little child of mine I send out into the world.

With love and hope.       D.

Disclaimers:

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/it/

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Italy License

That basically means I will not be mean to you if you share my work or make your derivative work from it while acknowledging mine, using the same license and not making any money off of it. Fair? Fair.

I only put this disclaimer here because I'm paranoid about people being jerks and dire situations like the one we are in currently bringing the worst out of humanity.

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Crayola. (G. Way x Reader)

For: @thrill_kill on Wattpad

Request: can you make one where the reader is new to a school and gerard is like the “punk boy” of the school, and they have to work together on something, and it can either smut or fluff (whatever you’re comfortable with tbh)

Note: Kinda put my own, unconventional spin on the whole ‘high school bad boy’ character. Because let’s face it, not all bad boys are hard-faced, emotionless, brooding males with eyes the colour of rich chocolate and lips so puffy you wanna kiss them forever and ever and a body so perfect that you just-

wait, what was my point, again?

Oh, yes! Not your typical bad boy. A bit different. Hope you like. x

 -----

The nice part about switching schools? It was a chance to start over, re-invent yourself and begin an entirely new chapter.

The bad part? For some undetermined, totally unwarranted reason, virtually every class you attended housed a bothersome teacher who insisted on subjecting you to the worst form of public humiliation known to mankind – standing up in front of the classroom for the customary ‘new kid’ introduction.

Now, you’d gotten through most of the day virtually unscathed, since the kids in your first couple classes were thoughtful enough to completely ignore you during the introductory speech – something that you thanked your lucky stars for – and all in all seemed like pretty chilled people. They hadn't immediately made you feel like you didn’t belong by cross-examining you, or staring at you like you were some kind of alien species, at least.

And then you got to Chemistry class.

That feeling you get when someone is staring at you? Yeah. That. Right from the second your feet crossed the threshold and entered the classroom.

You did the obvious thing, of course – kept your gaze lowered as you walked and focused it anywhere that wasn’t someone’s face when you stood up front. All was going well, until you slipped up and accidently locked gazes with someone.

And it wasn’t just anyone.

It was clear that he was the resident bad boy; leather jacket, combat boots, all black everything… well, all black everything except his hair. Red. Quite possibly the brightest red you’d ever seen; a shade that could only be accurately compared to a Crayola marker.

But his hair was not the thing that caught your attention the most, oh no – the thing that captivated you was the fact that when you looked over at him… he had already been looking at you.

He had already been looking at you, and he was smirking.

You weren’t an incredible shy person, per se, but the way he was gazing at you brought about knots in your stomach and made the blood rush to your cheeks, and you had no choice but to look away as quickly as you could.

With your focus now off of the mysterious, really cute guy, you realised that the teacher had stopped talking and was staring at you expectantly. It was clear that he had said something that probably required some sort of a response (or at least an acknowledgment) and you mentally cursed at yourself for letting Crayola distract you.

“Excuse me?” you said, awkwardly shifting your feet on the tiles.

“I said that we’re glad to have you join us, and I hope you’ll be happy in this class,” the teacher – Mr Owens – repeated with a friendly smile.

“Oh, thank you,” you muttered, mustering up a grin of your own.

Mr Owens extended a hand towards the back of the class. “There’s an empty seat second row from the back, next to Gerard.”

Moving your gaze in the direction that he pointed out, you searched for who your bench partner was and – oh.

Crayola.

Nice one, universe.

For some reason, your hands were trembling slightly as you made your way to the back of the class, and you frowned down at them, clutching the notebook you were holding in an attempt to get the shaking to stop.

You’d been so focused on calming yourself down that you hadn’t realised that you’d long since arrived at the bench, and Crayola was watching you with a tilted head and an amused look on his face.

“Hi,” he said, snapping you out of your trance.

Your head rose instantaneously at the sound of his voice, which was much softer and friendlier than you’d expected it to be. Somehow finding your own voice, you got a reply out.

“Hi.”

“I’m Gerard,” he introduced, placing an open hand on his chest and once again tossing you a smirk, “But you knew that.”

With an awkward laugh, you sat yourself down on the stool, slinging your backpack onto the bench-top. “(Y/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N),” he said smoothly, darting his tongue out and letting it run over his lips. Lips – which you noticed – that were almost as red as his hair.

You gave him a genuine smile, suddenly feeling not as anxious about being new as you had earlier. “Yeah, you too.”

Mr Owens went around the class, then, handing out procedure booklets for the experiment you would be conducting that lesson.

“The person next to you will be your lab partner for the rest of the year, and there’s no switching seats from here on out,” the teacher explained as he went along, “So I hope you chose wisely.”

He approached your bench, slowly handing booklets to you and your new partner. He took a moment to stop and look at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head once before looking at Gerard briefly, expression changing.

Gerard glared back at him and yanked the booklet from his hand, giving him the finger as he turned and walked away.

Confused, you turned to the redhead, pointing after Owens. “What was that about?”

“He hates me,” Gerard stated simply, pursing his lips and shrugging, “Thinks I’m a, quote, ‘bad seed’.” He made animated faces as he impersonated the teacher, getting a giggle from you.

Proud of himself for getting you to laugh, Gerard turned his entire body to face you. “I’m actually surprised that he put you next to me. Assigning a hot girl as my lab partner is not something I woulda expected from Richard.”

His shameless flirting caught you off guard, and you had to pretend to busy yourself with removing stationery from your backpack so that he couldn’t see your red face.

“Why does he think you’re a bad seed?” you asked, shifting the attention from yourself to him, “I mean, there must be a reason?”

Gerard ran his tongue along his teeth and shrugged, picking up one of your pens and twirling it around his fingers. “Personally, I think it’s just because I wear all black and dye my hair and have the whole ‘punk rock, bad boy’ aesthetic going on. That’s my theory.”

He creased his brow and looked up thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “But, I mean it could also be because I bubble-wrapped his car last year. Or because that one time he caught me smoking, I put the cigarette out on his tie. Oh, actually, it’s definitely because I hooked up with his daughter. But in my defence,” he arched his brows and raised his hands, “None of that was my fault. Technically.”

Cocking one brow, you smiled lazily. “Lemme guess? He interfered in your business, and you were just returning the favour?”

“Exactly!” Gerard’s eyes lit up and he smiled widely at you, before biting his bottom lip and reaching forward to ‘boop’ your nose. “I like you.”

“Alright!” Mr Owens called out, gathering the attention of the entire class, “Let’s do a quick walkthrough.”

You listened to the teacher drone on about customary lab safety precautions, laughing quietly every time Gerard would mumble a backhanded comment, and once Mr Owens had finished running through the experiment, you began setting up the necessary equipment.

“It’s a fairly simple experiment,” you commented, slipping on your safety goggles and skimming over the procedure booklet once more, “Just testing for precipitates.”

“Precipitation?” Gerard cocked his head and frowned. “Like, rain?”

Choking on the air in your throat as you tried to supress your laughter, you shook your head. “No, precipitates. In science, that’s the solid stuff that gathers at the bottom of the test tube when you mix certain solutions together.”

Gerard’s confusion quickly dissipated and was replaced with a sly smirk. “I know what precipitates are. I mean, hello, I’m in AP Chem. I just wanted to see if you’re hotter when you talk science. My conclusion: you are.”

Finding a surge of confidence all of a sudden, you squinted your eyes and looked at Gerard. “Ya know, if you spent as much time actually doing the experiment as you are spending flirting with me, we probably woulda finished already.”

“Would you consider it, though?” he raised one brow, starting to decant some ammonium hydroxide into one of the test tubes.

“Consider what?”

“Going on a date with me?”

Before your brain could even begin to process the question and formulate a response, the sight of the test tube overflowing caught your eye, and you gasped.

“Gerard, the tube!”

“What? OH SHIT!”

The redhead scrambled to find some paper towels to clean up with and in the process of hopping off of the stool somehow managed to knock over the bromothymol blue, staining the white bench a dark blue colour.

The commotion caught the attention of everyone else in the room, especially Mr Owens, who looked on disapprovingly.

“What happened?”

Gerard, irritated at himself for spilling the chemicals and upset over the fact that some spilled on his jacket, snapped back a reply. “What does it look like, genius? The chemicals spilt.”

Owens folded his arms. “They spilt or you spilled them?”

“Suck my dick, Richard.”

~

“I can’t believe I’m in here. I didn’t even do anything wrong…”

Gerard, lounging comfortable in his usual seat with his legs propped up on the desk in front of him, looked at you in excitement. “Welcome, princess! Is this your first time?”

Grinding your teeth, you glared at the redhead. “Yes, and it’s all your fault!”

“Hey, that teacher DESERVED to be cussed out, okay?” Gerard scoffed, jutting a thumb over his shoulder.

“No, he really didn’t!” you argued, voice high. Letting out a loud groan, you dropped your head in your hands. “I had plans for after school and you just ruined it, you fucking Crayola!”

Gerard’s brows arched in surprise. “Oh, so we’re already on a nicknaming basis? Awesome.”

He laughed as you made an impolite hand gesture, and shifted his chair closer to yours.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?” you hissed impatiently, pissed off beyond belief.

“Will you go out with me?”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. “Are you kidding me? After you got me thrown into detention? No fucking way.”

Gerard stayed silent and thought for a second. “So you’re saying that if I hadn’t gotten you thrown in here, you would have said yes?”

You stared at him, unblinking, for a long while before eventually answering. “I guess now we’ll never know, huh, Crayola?”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Crayons aren't my type.”

Another goddamned smirk.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll turn you into a Crayola, too. Just you wait.”

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

 Taglist:

@darknessdancing

@raversam

@username-number-01834

@moosesmoose

@underscoredarcy

@justawriterinprogress

@anotherwriterinprogress

[supacutiepie]

I have headcanons... Head Cannons if you will

I thoroughly believe Bakugou is the type to bullshit his way around every little truth so honestly this shit might as well be canon bc he is Absolutely That Extra

- The new reveals told that: The reason we didn’t see his room is because it’s got shelves of romance manga.

-Therefor : Bakugou is a MAJOR BOOK NERD NESTER

-He has cookbooks, his trashy literature, his classics, his mangas, every school book he ever owned has been kept. 

-This includes shit he wrote himself

-Cookbook notebooks, its a full wall to wall scenario. He has books in every language and they make a librarian weep.

-The books he can’t read?? He has notebooks filled with translations he’s jot down after hours of scouring the internet and his OTHER books.

-TBFH his self written notebook collection puts “shitty nerdy fanboy deku” to shame

-Not only does he have this many books, they have consumed him. His room is wall to wall with them and they are so neatly organized to his mind that he just AUTOMATICALLY knows EXACTLY where every little page is. 

-However

-You may think, “Bakugou is the neatest of the students”

-Bullshit

-He understands his methods. You could never. I’m not shitting you, we have only ever seen his bed because its the only clean spot. He has piles of books, his closet is filled with his novelty t-shirts--

-Oh, he swaps out his wardrobe every season. Not because he cares per say but rather if he didn’t he’d drown in the clothes. His parents own a fashion line, every. single. month. he gets something new.

-Clothes mean jack shit to him. Sure, he gets it. He understands that clothes are “Expressions”... but to him its just bullshit extra merchandise that he gets in  packages once a month since he born. He long since left behind any attachment to anything that wasn’t some doofy bs novelty shit. His skull shirt collection is hideous and he loves it. 

-Bc he gets clothes so often, he just as often donates them.

-Everyone in 1-A has received a mysterious package of clothing. Everyone. And it’s always customized because like hell he’d just throw clothes at people puh-lease his father DESIGNS FASHION FROM SCRATCH

-It’s also ‘secretly’ his way of trying to put some kind of fashion sense in the heathens he lives with. 

-So his closet is full, his walls are lined with shelves and stacks and notes.

-But the rest of the “clear space” is filled with art.

- Drawings, Sketches, Designs. Little thing stacked up or tapped together. Prototypes over a desk thats STUFFED with pencils and erasers and extra paper and books. 

-Photographs of the places he’s been. So many different shots of Paris, mountains, rivers, lakes. He has a series of photo albums for the best and one is entirely dedicated to sunrises- another to sunsets.

-He has a map above his bedside. It’s the only spot big enough because it doesn’t have a big ass bookshelf on the wall.

-The map is big and delicately detailed. But it’s still just a map.

-The cool shit is that it is COVERED in tack-markers. Well, most of it is. 

-Europe is washed out by tacks. France has so many different colored tacks its an eyesore. Paris has a big ass push pin bc he’s been there so many times. Enough that when Aoyama starts mumbling obscenities at their classmates he has to stop himself from cackling along.

-He has a trail of pushpins along the Alps and Pyrenees. 

-The different colors mean things. But only he gets its.

* Black is Done. Been there, done it, no point going back.

*Green is Good. It’s a place he kinda liked, but its not somewhere he needs to go back to. Paris is a big ass green push pin.

*Red is for a place he wants to go back to. The mountains are a trail of red that grows inch by inch longer.

*Blue is for Potential. He marks his next trips in blue, but not his dream trips.

*Those would be his nice, doofy, silver tipped push pins. the classic “string on a crime board” kind. He has major cities plotted out with these. Theres a large mishmash over america filled with silver and blue. He has books and books and BOOKS on american mountain ranges and cuisine and he not-so-secretly plotted out a course all-might themed rest stops.

*Yellow is for his favorites. The first mountain he ever hiked, the onsen he found while his parents dragged him out to a business trip up north, the island they went on once for a family vacation. (He fell in love with the sunset. It was clear and bright and there were so many colors at once that its his ‘happy place’. He sat on top of a fucking volcano and it was AWESOME.)

-The map is obsessively picked over, the pins are carefully arranged, and the map itself its surrounded by his favorite snapshots of the places marked.

-His room is a mess. But he does know the exact inch everything belongs in.

-He may not seem it, but he is sentimental. He just doesn’t keep all the sentimental shit in the dorms. Those things are at home. On shelves and wall caddies and tucked between his even BIGGER collection of books and cd cases.

-He does have All Might merch, but again, at home. The few things he has at the dorm are hand drawn posters, so much cooler than the cheap shit you get in the store.

-He doesn’t have time for movies and shows, but when he does its either “cheesy romance serial” or “blood, guts, and glory”

-TBFH his FAVORITE movie is a bastard child of a romcom, an action, and a suspense thriller. It’s horrible, its audacious, its cheesy and the vgi is awful but its one of those Things he loves. (On really bad days, when his arms ache for hours and he didn’t sleep well the night before he lets the movie go on repeat just for the cheese. It’s a soothing ‘nothing really matters’ kinda Thing)

-Oh, lets not forget his arms.

-His quirk is DEMANDING. Its a needy little princess. He gets sick of it acting like a bitch. His arms will ache if he over does it, so he has a giant fucking box of tiger balms and compression wraps and weird fucking icy-hot concoctions.

-He DOESN’T have skin car shit. Surprise surprise, he doesn’t need it. He is soft. He is also, incredibly fucking annoyed.

-He has those super obnoxious spray colognes, some super expensive shit, and inbetweeners. Because otherwise he smells like he just rolled out a vat of butterscotch and step into a shower of caramel. But BURNT.

-Seriously, his room would be noxious from the nitroglycerin smell alone. He constantly has a fan going and the window open. And while the room is cluttered he CANNOT let it go uncleaned or he risks a build up of explosives. He has to change his sheets daily, he has a routine for covers and pillow cases, and he is damn near religious in clothes washing because otherwise he’s destined to explode Something he Doesn’t Want Exploded. (The books. The very flammable sometimes RARE books.)

-Oh, and he has MANY a blanket and throw. He swaps them out so he isn’t doing huge loads of laundry for the big shit. It’s mostly thin blankets anyways, but they’re super soft and cozy and he nestles up to read his books like a demented caterpillar. The blanket he sleeps with ALWAYS ends up on the floor. 

-He doesn’t like to think himself overly conceited. But he is cocksure and arrogant and he has an image to keep. So of course he has routines to make himself look good.

-This is just a Bakugou thing TBQH.

-More of a personal headcanon, but he’s definitely gay. Not in the super obvious way, but he’s definitely confident in it. He isn’t about to go plastering his walls with flags (as if they’d fit), and he isn’t jotting down crushes in a journal (he does have journals, they’re just... incredibly volatile and profane)

-He’s just, confident.  He has a single little rainbow picture, its a picture he took and its super cool and shit. A rainbow in the mountains, right after a shower. He keeps in in a frame in one of the bookshelves near his manga. It’s tasteful, and it’s subtle. He knows what its for, and the littleness of it feels nice and secure.

-He doesn’t shy away if asked. But no one asks. He’d be honest, if anyone did. It’s not something he will hide- that’d be cowardly...

-But deep down, it does give him pause. It’s something he wrestled into submission since he figured it out. He had this big dream of being N.1 and then one day he realized that, had society not advanced the way it did, he could have nothing. He’d never tell a soul but it scared him, to know that despite all his ‘perfections’  he had this one thing that would turn heads in a way he didn’t want.

-He realized though that it as just one more thing he’d own. So he noosed it, that fear, and he throttled it into submission. He’d be N.1, he’d be open, He’d pioneer that shit if he had too- but he didn’t have too. It ended up being something that added character if nothing else, and he was determined to make it a trait and not a flaw and to build his pride with it.

-That all being said, much like any self respecting gay- he does has a string of lights tastefully weaving over the wood of his bookshelves.

-Extras:

* He doesn’t get sick often. Just, doesn’t. He keeps a close watch on his health, is always good on hygiene, and in general doesn’t jeopardize his well-being.

* When he gets sick. It hits him like a FREIGHT TRAIN.

* He only gets fevers once in a blue moon and he’ll fight the damn moon itself to keep it this way because when he DOEs get a fever its like a putting a handful of firecrackers into a cooking pot.

* He pops when sweaty. He just DOES, It’s INCREDIBLY annoying but thankfully localized to the hands. But when the fever strikes, his whole body pops. He spends the majority of his fever curled up in something flame-proof to wait it out.

*If he’s sweating, and by some MIRACLe he blushes, he CRACKLES.

* He’ll kill you if you witness it.

* I said he’s confident, not that he can’t be flustered.

* On that note, he’ll take it to the grave, but he definitely made Kaminari discharge in front of the dorms that first day by kissing him. It was on the cheek though! And it fucking hurt. Touching Kaminari is like playing roulette and his finger tips smell funny afterwards so he tries to avoid it.

* Honestly, the same can be said for anyone with a quirk that can react to his.

*Fucking half-and-half actually worries him. For the sanctity of his clothing.

* That fight with Deku in ground-beta set off every nerve ending he had and for a solid 24 hrs afterwards he actually had trouble keeping his quirk under his skin. He can still vividly recall the arc of electricity over his face and it never fails to leave a lasting echo in his mind.

* Kirishima is good for this though. Ironically, he’s grounding. He’s the one person Bakugou has never worried about hurting or leaving damage behind. Likewise, he knows that Kirishima high-key needs the confidence boost that Bakugou drags with him everywhere, so he amps up his attitude when the red-head seems down.

* He has no earthly idea how to describe his relationship with Kirishima and it shows. He would never dare say it allowed, but he knows that the boy is his best friend and he’d honestly kill for him. But more so, he’d be willing to live and fight beside him.

* Kirishima is one of the VERY FEW who has a picture in Bakugou’s room. It’s from a hiking trip, and its really backlit so you honestly wouldn’t know at first glance, but its beautiful. A sunrise, right at the summit. A figure standing on a rock with a hand excitedly outstretched towards the horizon.

* The other people with photos, are his parents- and the Midoriya’s.

* It’s not as obvious this one. But he keeps a family photo on his bookself of the three Bakugous, and then theres an old photograph tucked away between some of his older school book collections.

* It’s a beach photo. He couldn’t be more than, maybe three? 

* It’s a whole other life. A time before his quirk. Before he knew he was destined.

*He’s sitting on a rock with a backsplash of salt and foam. He’s got an arm wrapped around a tiny Izuku. It was the only thing keeping the other boy from tumbling off into the waves. Their moms are sitting on either side, big happy faces all around.

*The boys were burnt, both heavily freckled, and smiling like the world was endless.

* The photo...makes him sad. He can’t explain it, not even sure what words could do so. It’s nostalgic sure, but something between the pixels of ink has him at a lost. It was such a different time, and the little boy in the photo is a stranger.

*Sometimes, rarely and in the dead of night when a nightmare finally gets him awake, he thinks about life. About how different it could have been, about the paths he chose and the ones he burnt. He wonders, he regrets, and he moves on before morning.

*Bakugou Katsuki refuses to dwell. He bottles and compartmentalizes and he tucks it away like a pamphlet in a library. Notes and subscripts to be lost in translation. 

( He’s vocal, he’s vivid. He writes. He loves his book collection and he writes his own short stories. His imagination is as vivid as the rest of the class, and he jots down half finished ideas all the time. He has a memory that makes an elephant cry, so his school notebooks are tiny and his idea notebooks are scattered. The words he can’t get out into the air are sometimes trapped in ink. )

[mysticsparklewings]

Roses in Your Eyes

Oh look, a not-Inktober thing! So after my first dive into The Realm of Gouache, I really wanted to play with the medium a little more and try doing some different things with it. More accurately, I wanted to try using the gouache more opaquely, since last time I took a more transparent/watercolor approach. Full disclosure, I actually had the sketch for this done before the gouache set even arrived to me. My original plan was to do the rose part of the "glasses" in the watercolor style from my In Bloom Le Plumes piece, maybe the leaves too, and then do the hair and possibly the skin in the more opaque gouache style. That was the plan so that I could try to get the most out of both sides to what gouache can do. But after I got the gouache and swatched it out, I wanted to try something a little more experimental before I jumped into this drawing so that I'd have a better handle on what I was actually working with. So that's where the first gouache painting came in. So it was after that when I made the decision to commit a little more closely to using gouache in it's more opaque form. The concept for the drawing is something of a play on the phrase "looking through rose-colored glasses," (or whatever the full version of that phrase is, you know what I mean). The original expression, as I'm sure we all know, means seeing something as being better than it actually is, usually because of personal bias. This idea takes it to a bit of an extreme; the glasses aren't just tinted in a rose color, they're straight-up roses. Instead of just viewing something as better than it actually is, the person is willfully ignoring or otherwise blinded to seeing things as they really are entirely. And possibly hurting themselves in the process, if the roses have thorns. (I didn't draw any but they could be there, unseen.) A couple of other notes on the drawing design before I move on: I went with buns in the hair since I usually draw loose/down hair and wanted to mix it up a bit, and to "close off" the drawing I added the leaves at the base of her neck, which also kind of double as a shirt-collar in terms of appearance, which I thought was neat. The leaves and the bit of vine across the nose, as may be obvious, are supposed to represent the frame and bridge of glasses. I transferred the lines from the sketch to piece of Strathmore mixed media paper since I didn't think I'd be using enough water or watercolor techniques to warrant breaking out some 100% cotton paper, but I wanted something thick enough to handle paint, and I thought the smooth-ish texture would suit the gouache based on what experimenting I'd already done. The roses for the eyes had no lines, and admittedly I probably could've gotten away with even fewer lines than the ones I did transfer since the gouache is opaque. I actually had a fair number of hairlines drawn in that got totally covered up since that was way easier than trying to carefully work around them. Anyway. For all the gouache parts, I started with a darker base color, since it's usually recommended that you work from dark to light in gouache, and then I'd go back in with 2-3 lighter colors on top to add shading/depth. The main issues I ran into were when the gouache color wasn't totally opaque, such as the rose base color (which is actually called "Rose," believe it or not) which gives me mixed feelings because on the one hand, it can look kind of interesting in giving you less structured, more unpredictable shading based on how you layer it, but also...well, it's not as opaque, so you have work with it slightly differently compared to the more opaque colors. The other issue was that I really struggled to have enough paint on my brush, particularly when doing tiny details, to get the full opacity and smooth color that I wanted, without leaving a glop of paint where it didn't need to be. Especially in areas like the hair that had a lot of fine tapering lines. I'm not sure how much of the problem is me and how my is or isn't my brushes or what, but this is something I occasionally have issues within acrylic painting too, but it felt way more prevalent here. I did manage to fix some areas that got away from me by layering darker colors back on top of the lighter ones, but then you also have areas like one of the loose hair strands around her chin that got away from me and I had to make noticeably longer than it originally was in order to fix it. (You can probably guess which one it was without me having to point it out for you.) I also had an "issue" in that it was seemingly very easy to mix up way too much of custom color, but that's more of a me problem than a problem with the paint. (And admittedly the above aren't necessarily paint-specific problems either.) Speaking of which, I'm still not sure if my "Titanium White" and "White" got mixed up or not, but since I suspect they did, I used the one I felt like looks more like the mixing white to do so. (Although admittedly I probably could've tried some mixing tests with both to see if I noticed a difference there whatever, perhaps some other time.) And I specifically avoided using black, since I thought it would be too harsh in mixes. For the hair, I just used one of the pre-mixed browns for my darkest and then used lighter colors and made my own lighter mixes to go over it. For the leaves, I actually mixed some of the Prussian Blue into one of the greens to make it darker. I think I may have benefitted from going a little lighter on how much of the blue went in, though. The roses were actually one of the more fun parts since they didn't have to be so precise or specific to make the look work. I started with a base of the Rose/hot pink color, mixed a lighter pink to make sections that probably should've been a little less light in color and slightly larger in shape, and then a slightly lighter pink than should have been lighter to layer on top of the already lighter pink parts. Partly because of some the issues I mentioned earlier and partly because I was just kinda going for whatever with only a minimal plan, I did have to go back and forth with the lights and darks in some areas on these, and I still don't think they look quite alike enough, even though I never intended to make them perfectly symmetrical. I also decided to not totally abandon gouache's watercolor properties with the background, since at this point I was thinking I didn't want to leave it plain white, but I also didn't want to do anything too complicated or intense that might take away from the rest of the art and the concept behind it. So I watered down some of the pink I used for the roses' base color and just kinda went over the background to my heart's content until I was happy with what the textures were doing since I knew it was unrealistic to expect to be able to get the background totally smooth trying to work around the rest of the drawing. Now, originally I was planning on painting in the skin with the gouache, however, I made the grave mistake of not thinking about it until after I'd pretty much finished with all the other painted parts, and I really did not feel like trying to paint around everything. And, honestly, I really did like the contrast of the white skin against the other colors. I did acknowledge that I could have mixed a gray from the gouache and shaded the white skin with that, but it felt like too much of a risk and still like too much of a hassle, so I conceited that I could bring other mediums into this since I'd already done my gouache-exclusive test piece. I grabbed a couple of very, very light gray Copic markers and added some very careful, very subtle shading to the skin. And you guys haven't seen the first time I used this mixed-media paper just yet (it's coming down the pipeline, I promise!), but for the second time I'm kind of in love with how it handles alcohol markers and I really need to try a more marker-heavy illustration on it sometime.   After all that though, it was still missing a couple of things. I ended up breaking out my white uni-ball Signo gel pen to line around the girl just so she really would pop off the background, opting for it instead of the white gouache because, again, that seemed like too much of a chore to try and do. And my white Sakura gelly roll tends to be a little more transparent compared to the Signo, and I really wanted the stronger, stark white look. Then after some thinking, I added the rose lines in the background using a pink and a green Sakura gelly rolls and the stencil I've toyed with using on other projects before. And overall it, it has its faults (especially if you look at it too closely), but I really like how the whole thing turned out. It has almost a surreal vibe to it that I think drives home the initial concept really nicely, and just, in general, it's very sweet colors but has a more eerie feel to it. (At least when I look at it, anyway.) It also very vaguely gives me Luna-Lovegood vibes, so of course, I like it for that alone. I'm not sure what I'm going to make with the gouache next, as so far it seems its planning requires a slightly different thought process than I'm used to, but I have some ideas and all this has succeeded in doing is making me want to use the gouache more.  This definitely isn't the last we'll be seeing of it, that's for sure! ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[moonfairydraws]

Watercolor Stars (Bucky Barnes x Jeni, Tattoo Artist!AU) (NSFW) part 1

Summary: When Bucky comes into the tattoo shop, she hope to god he wants a watercolor tattoo. Cause just admit it, you’d wanna color that perfect body for hours too.

Warnings: Smutty and a bit of my art history side comes out. Also apparently Jeni cusses in this universe.

Words: 1,207

“Oh, hey Bucky. Isn’t it your day off?” Nat looked up at him.

Clint laughed. “Steve probably called him in anyway. Am I right?”

“Actually, I kinda wanted to see Jeni.”

“You’re in luck.” Nat smiled, before shouting to the back. “Hey! You almost done with that guy?”

A familiar voice answered. “That was two hours ago. I’m eating lunch now Nat! You know that.” 

“You can go back and meet her. She should be in the break room.”

“Cool.”

The first thing he noticed about the petite artist was the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was kind of obvious from the back, since she was wearing one of those crazy open Pilates shirts that showed off the bare back quite nicely. The second thing that was obvious was her amazing arm tattoo, what looked like the outline of a woman, but filled to the brim with stars and planets, which fit perfectly with her purple and pink combo hair. Although, to Bucky, the cutest part was her brunette roots, although the other tattoos he could see were good contenders. 

He smiled at one of Steve’s tattoos on her inner thigh as she turned around, a vintage Cap Coleman styled woman with a black domino mask and short cropped brunette hair, a gold hawk emblazoned on the figure’s red dress. He also noticed one of Nat’s intricate line work tattoos peaking out from the opposite thigh: a rainbow infinity sign.

“So what’s up?” Her voice snapped him out of his trance. 

“Um....I’m thinking of getting a watercolor of that.” Bucky pointed at the logo of the shop, a shield with blue and red circles, a white star in the center. “Kinda wanted to get one like the one you did for Steve.”

“You saw the one I did for Steve?” He could see her face light up. “Honestly, it’s one of my better pieces.”

“Well, I’d like something for my chest.” Bucky took his jacket off, eliciting a wolf whistle from Nat. He glared in her direction.

“I think we need a little more privacy. The office probably.” Jeni led him into the tiny office, getting up on the desk, on her knees. The sight made Nat and Clint hold in their breath from their hiding place.

“You think that’s strong enough to hold you?”

“Please, it holds Steve. Take off your shirt.”

“Okay.” He took off the red henley, allowing Jeni to see his muscles. But what made her catch her breath was the tattoo on his arm.

“I never asked you before but, who did this?” Jeni’s reluctance was stopped by the need to examine an unknown artist’s work on his shoulder. It was a simple star, black outlined, with a robotic arm look that covered his whole arm. The line work was impressive. It was colored gray with a splash of vibrant red on the star.

“An old cell mate.” He looked sullen. “Natasha did the colors.”

“Well, it’s great work,” The look he gave her said so much. “I don’t think I would be able to top it. But...what would you think of this?” Jeni grabbed her markers from her pocket. Before Nat and Clint could stop her, she started to draw on his chest. The slight, careful movements made the pair mesmerized. “It’s not as good as Steve’s work but...”

The steel look of the rough made Bucky smile. “I love it.”

“Thanks.” She tried to hide her face with her hair. Bucky liked how it brought out the numerous freckles on her tan skin. 

“No coitus in the office.” They all jerked up to see Steve in the doorway, his hand over his eyes. 

“What?” Bucky’s face flushed as he saw Steve’s face. “I wouldn’t do that!”

“So, Jeni is wearing a bra?”

She threw a book of flash tattoos at Steve, although sadly it didn’t sail very far. “You idiots!”

She found herself in the office. It was obviously past closing. Did she fall asleep?

“You still here?” A smokey voice got her attention. It was Bucky.

“What are you doing here?”

“Forgot my bag.”

Bucky cooed as he traced the rainbow curves on her thigh. The chilliness of his hand made her jolt. He pulled her closer to him, kissing her collarbone. It was a venomous kiss, making her hips roll over his. 

“Does that feel good?” He let his words dance over her ear. She wriggled as he started to neck her. “What about this?”

“Buc-“

”Really? Being so informal.”

“What should I call you then?”

“My full name would be nice.”

“Sergeant. James.” She moaned between each syllable. “Buchanan. Barnes.”

��Good.” He moved his attention to her breasts, which was one of the few places not covered in ink. “So inviting, I just want to...”

Jeni jolted awake to the sound of her alarm.

“Fuck.”

“You had a sex dream? About that guy?” Wanda laughed.

“Almost sex dream. My stupid alarm clock woke me up before he even took off his shirt,” Jeni whined, her head slamming against the breakfast table. “I hate waking up horny.”

“Too bad I wasn’t there.” Pietro smiled, leaning over Jeni. “I could’ve taken care of your morning cravings.”

“As good as that sounds, I like my sexual partners to last longer than two minutes.”

“And they usually wear leather, Little bro.” Wanda laughed. “Speaking of which, how is your angel doing?”

“Last I heard, the Revengers were on tour in Europe.” Jeni purred. “Opening for some band called the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

“Really? Their drummer Drax is amazing.” Pietro fanboyed, almost knocking the dishes off the table. “You think Val can get a signed poster for me?”

“You’d be better off asking Loki to kiss Bruce.” She chuckled. “Shoot, I need to get to work.”

Pietro and Wanda exchanged glances as she ran out the door.

“Wanna bet how long until she realizes he likes her back?” Wanda held up a bagel. 

“It might be better to bet who confesses first.”

“I’m sorry I’m...” Jeni stared at what she saw in the studio. There was Bucky, in a destroyed Nighthawk T-shirt. It really showed off his tattoos, especially the line work she’d finished yesterday. Jeni’s mind fill immediately with images of him from last night. She could feel her cheeks warm but she tried to hide it by acting normal. “Hey.”

“Good morning.” That’s when she realized. He was behind the desk, looking through the accounts. “Ready for work?”

“Yeah. I got an appointment with a old client in an hour.”

“Guess we could have some fun before then.”

“Yeah...” Jeni pinched herself. Was she still dreaming? 

“Alright, cause Steve wants us to put up a display.” The statement made Jeni sigh with relief.

“Oh, sure.” She looked down at her feet. “Um, about what Steve said yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t know why he would think that.” He shuffled some papers. Jeni almost thought she saw his cheeks flush. 

“That’s okay. Would you like to go out together for lunch?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” He looked up at her. “But I’m buying.”

“Alright, I get it. Trying to be a gentleman.” Jeni chuckled, her embarrassment gone. “But I get to pay the next time.”

“Deal.”

@sweetievalencia @fandom-hoe101 @spiderzenslaya @agentmalfoy24601 @kxrtswagnertrash @step-into-my-office @libsybum  @panicnowandrun  @honey-im-no-angel @madelyne-pryor @saintpyro @arfrona-and-marvel @totheendofthelinepal @marvelfanfichq @full-time-fangirling @that-sokovian-bastard @ourpeachskies @fanfic-haven @thatbandchick39

[warping-reality]

Rooftops: Intro & Ch. 1

So, due to overwhelming support-and by that I mean @cheezit-insanity said she’d read it, so-here’s the intro and first chapter of the book I’m writing, Rooftops. 

Rooftops: a Novel

by Jeneve Wilder

Introduction

                We lived at the top of what used to be a publishing house. It had been abandoned for many years, until the current landlord won it gambling and leased it out to those desperate enough to stay there. And they were desperate, each and every one of them.

               The ground floor could often be found with three or four of the homeless sleeping in the makeshift lobby, seeking shelter from the bitter cold. Four prostitutes lived on the fifth floor—a nice bunch, considering. We didn’t see much of the other residents.

               There was no heat—an unfortunate circumstance in a northern state where the wind could slice right through you. The stairwell and floors creaked with age and the main doors didn’t have locks. Not that there was any real need for them.

               We didn’t have anything worth stealing.

               There were six of us, in total; or rather, three pairs of us. We came in pairs.

               The first pair was Oliver and RiRi. Siblings, though you wouldn’t guess it. Oliver was studying law at Uni, fancied making a name for himself. RiRi fancied the same, only she went about different means. Night and day, Oli and Ri were. RiRi’s real name was Rhianna, and she went by Anne, but when they came to live with the rest of us we already had an Anne—formally Joanna. So, they flipped for it, Anne won, and RiRi had to find a new nickname. RiRi was a lot of things. Bright. Loud. A headache, according to Shiloh. She wore graphic tees and snapbacks, piling long waves of burnt orange hair up into haphazard ponytails. Oliver was everything RiRi wasn’t. Respectful. Proper. Just a bit full of himself, but then he’d had a hard time of it, as did most black kids from a poor family. (Yes, you read right. RiRi was adopted. No continuity flaws here.) He had to grow up a bit too fast. Then again, we all did.

               Next were Rose and Peter. Or Peter and Rose, if you prefer. Unlike Oliver and RiRi, neither name had to come first. (Some people are just funny like that, aren’t they, where their names must be said in a particular order, or else it’s wrong? Try saying ‘Hermione and Ron’ or ‘Frodo and Sam’ and you’ll see what I mean.) Anyways, Peter and Rose are hard to define. Peter was a tattoo artist, Rose an apprentice in the shop he worked in. That’s how they met. They were disgustingly in love, that much was obvious to anyone around them, yet they didn’t seem to have the same urgency to their relationship that others did. Not much is known about Rose. (Read: the girl is a fucking mystery.) She’s Latina, wears leather, and rides a motorbike that most of her salary goes towards. She’s a decent artist, street smart, and completely terrifying. That’s all. Peter’s a bit easier-he’s an absolute sweetheart. When you think of Peter, you think of watercolor and beat up converse, of messy hair and goofy smiles, pencils stuck behind ears and faded shirts pulled on inside out.

               Shiloh and Anne were last. Best friends since they had met in a community theatre production at 15 and 13 respectively, the two were absolutely inseparable. Shiloh is tall. Annoyingly tall, according to Anne, who is 5’2” and ¾”. Choppily cut, short blonde hair hangs in her face, obscuring her eyes. Shiloh cut it when she was 16 as an act of rebellion against her mother. She was 21 now, and hadn’t spoken to her mother in almost 5 years. Anne and Shiloh were both students at Uni alongside Oliver, Shiloh studying Pre-Med and Anne undeclared. Where Shiloh was ungainly and awkward, Anne was graceful and poised. Her abundant curls of dark, Hawaiian hair flowed well past her waist. She wore loose, fluid clothing and made her own jewelry. Years of dancing had made her lithe frame strong and slender. She was the undisputed mother of us all, taking care of each of us in her own special ways.

               Now you have the setting and the cast of characters laid before you. Now you must await the lift of the curtain, for that odd stage play of life to start and the actors to perform.

               This is our story, we six strange thespians of unusual origins on our opening debut. We invite you to join us, in a year of our lives.

Rooftops: Chapter 1

              Shiloh grinned into the wind as she urged her bike faster down the street. Anne was pulling up close behind her, challenging the small lead Shiloh had won over the past seven minutes. Gritting her teeth, she soared tightly around the last curve in their route, gaining another foot on Anne before screeching to a stop outside the Chemistry building. Anne panted as she pulled up a second later.

              “Oh hush, I’m tired,” she said, rolling her eyes at Shiloh’s smirk.

              “Maybe your legs are just too short,” the other girl laughed.

              “Need I remind you that I’ve won for the past two days?”

              Shrugging, Shiloh swung off her bike, walking it over to the rack by the side of the building. She kneeled, tugged a small weed out from a crack in the pavement, and quickly chained up her bike. Anne tugged a knot of dark, tangled hair from her helmet, wincing as she did so.

              “I’m late. Are we on for lunch?”

              “Nah, not today.” Shiloh checked the time. “I’ll be heading to the gym with Oli. And relax, you’ve still got a few minutes.”

              “Alright, see you tonight then.”

              Shiloh waved a distracted goodbye as Anne pedaled away. Jogging to the third floor, she headed on into her classroom, despite being almost half an hour early.

              Ms. Rigley glanced up with a small smile as Shiloh bounded towards her desk, dropping off the latest homework assignment into the blue inbox.

              “Hey, Ms. R. Anything I can help with?”

              “Good morning, Caulton.” Ms. Rigley always called everyone by their last name. “If you could copy these notes onto the board, it would be helpful.”

              Shiloh nodded, grabbing the pages and beginning to write the formulas out in careful strokes. It never hurt to be on a professor’s good side, especially with midterms coming up, so Shiloh was more than happy to offer her assistance. The time passed in silence, broken only by the occasional squeaking of the marker or shuffling of papers. Shiloh stood back to survey her work, and then she headed to her chair.

              One by one, fellow students started filing in, stopping to drop their work off. Shiloh’s fingers itched with the temptation to straighten the haphazard pile. They were a small class, slightly cramped into a stuffy room with large windows. Holden nodded a greeting to her as he slid into the desk to her left and pulled out his notebook. Ms. Rigley stood, and the class began.

              Although a Biology major, Shiloh found Ms. Rigley’s Organic Chem to be her favorite class, mostly due to the teacher herself. She was gruff, and a harsh grader, but she obviously cared for her student’s success and mental health, allowing them occasional breaks from homework and always providing extra credit. Clicking her pen, Shiloh set herself to copying down the first problem.

              ~

              Pre-wrap was her best friend, Shiloh decided as she stepped from the changing room into the bright fluorescence of the gym interior. There was comfort in the familiar routine of preparation before any task, especially exercise. She passed a colorful poster boasting, ‘Today is YOUR Day,’ and plopped down on a mat next to Oliver.

              “How was your day?” She grabbed a roller and started stretching. “And please don’t start rambling about your newest law assignment thing again,” she found it prudent to cut off that line of discussion before it started. “It’s fucking boring.”

              In response, Oliver rolled his eyes. “As I have stated many times, my field of study has innumerable possible applications to help people. Law is not boring, it’s fascinating. It’s a puzzle.” He paused. “I suppose such a study is only for those with true dedication.”

              Shiloh chuckled. Oliver had a way of speaking properly. She supposed it was his way of distancing himself from the slum he grew up in. At least it would help his law career.

              Their friendship was an easy one, built on mutual comradery, gym life, study halls, and light teasing. cha

              She switched legs, working on her left calf, and changed the subject. “Anne’s picking up dinner tonight—”

              “Redundant, she does so every night.”

              Shiloh charitably ignored the interruption. “Should I let her know of any preferences?”

              Oliver grunted, seemingly unconcerned. “If it’s not Indian I don’t mind, but if I must have any more curry, my tongue will fall off.”

              “Blame Peter for that one. I’ll let her know.”

              “Want to cycle in on the bench?”

              “Sure, I’d like someone to spot me anyway,” Shiloh answered. “Want to row a bit first though. Can you entertain yourself for 20 minutes?”

              “Fine with me, I’ll jog.”

              “Cool, I’m almost done here. You never answered me though.”

              Confusion flickered across his face. “Answered what?”

              “How was your day?”

              “Oh. Fine.” Oliver’s usually gruff voice pitched a little higher and softer. “I met someone new.”

              “Do tell.”

              “Her name is April. She just transferred from community college.”

              What an incredible way to give me no information of importance, Shiloh thought. “Do you like her?”

              Her suspicions were confirmed by the acute redness that flushed across the back of Oliver’s neck. “She’s nice enough,” he huffed.

              “So that’s a yes then,” she sing-songed. Oliver just rolled his eyes in annoyance. Tapping her chin, Shiloh pretended to think. “Wonder what the rest will think of this! Oli’s got a fling!”

              “Ah, keep it under wraps, would’ja?” He asked, reverting to his old slang, betraying his nerves. “I kinda was thinking ‘bout takin’ it slow, like.”

              “I gotcha,” Shiloh grinned. This girl must be really something. “I suppose I could be persuaded to keep my lips sealed, for now. Hope she’s as great as you seem to think.”

              “Yeah, well,” he scratched his hear. “You better get to rowing if we are to leave in time for dinner.”              

              Shiloh gave him a quick salute, and bounded towards to rowing machine.

              ~

              After their time at the gym was done, the two biked home, delightfully sore. When they finally arrived, and hiked up the seven flights of stairs, they found the apartment mostly abandoned. A quick glance at the coat rack, which was a bunch of push pins Anne had shoved into the hardwood, told them that RiRi was the only one home. They headed to the central room where RiRi sat, headphones in and eyes glued to her laptop screen.

              Oliver caught Shiloh’s eye, indicating with a jerk of his head to take the left. Shiloh nodded, mouth twitching upwards at the corners. In unison, they snuck closer to the unaware redhead. Pouncing with a jubilant shout, their fingers quickly found her sides, and RiRi shrieked, falling off her perch and crashing into Oliver. Shiloh clambered over the chair to join the impromptu huddle, continuing to tickle RiRi mercilessly until she cried uncle.

              RiRi lay on her back, panting. “Scare the life right out of me, why don’t you,” she grumbled, mustering up a glare.

              Oliver smiled, kissing her cheek in a belated greeting. “You should know better, losing track of time and letting your guard slip in house full of pranksters.”

               “Is it really six already?” RiRi cast a longing glance towards her computer. “And I’d hardly count Peter as a prankster.”

              Shiloh gave an undignified snort. “That’s only because nobody’s ever caught him. I still say he’s responsible for switching all my coffee out for decaf/

              Oliver and RiRi simultaneously at the reminder of that awful week. An undercaffeinated Shiloh could be the plot of a horror movie.

              “Anything exciting happen while we were out?” Shiloh asked, unconcerned with the dramatics of the siblings. “Please tell me you weren’t on the computer all day.”

              “Actually,” RiRi answered with a sniff, “I went on a walk around noon.”

              Oliver gasped with mock horror. “You left the house? Haven’t we taught you the dangers of the outside world? Have you learned nothing?”

              Shiloh quickly cottoned on and joined the act. “I never thought I’d see the day! Our little RiRi, all grown up and venturing outside!” She wiped away a fake tear. “The sky is red! Cats and dogs are getting along! I’m suddenly straight! The world’s turned upside down!”

              There was a brief pause, and then Oliver and Shiloh collapsed into a fit of giggles.

              “Oh, bugger off. I’m not that reclusive.”

              “You are that reclusive. And British, apparently.”

              Oliver quickly derailed the conversation before the two could devolve into their usual bickering. “Did you accomplish anything productive, or have you just watched Jean Bailey all day?”

              “I have actually! I uploaded a video and started on scripts for a couple others.” Her voice took on a light and excited tone, as it always did when RiRi talked about her work. She was pursuing a career on YouTube, eager to make her money doing something fun. Currently, she only had about 1,200 subscribers, but she carried a confidence that her channel would soon take off.

              “Is Anne back yet?” RiRi continued. “I’m hungry.”

              Shiloh checked her watch. “She should be back soon, no clue as to what she’s bringing.”

              “As long as it’s not Indian,” Oliver sighed.

              Shiloh shrugged and walked away to dump her backpack in her room. Might as well loose herself in a book while waiting, she reasoned. Shiloh let her fingers trail over various options before settling on the familiar comfort of Pride and Prejudice. Cracking it open, she settled down to read. The familiar sentences and notes scrawled in the margins served to soothe her tired mind.

              These books were her principal possessions. Shiloh had precious little in the way of things. Her side of the room was furnished with a simple desk and chair, and a mattress with two blankets was tucked into a corner. Random sketches Peter or Rose had left lying around were tacked haphazardly to the walls; a sheer piece of cloth hung over the single window overlooking a back alley. A thin screen separated her side from Anne’s. But her books were everywhere-stacked against the walls or in orderly piles on the floor. Shiloh could tell you where each was, name each author, even recite entire chapters from some of her favorites. She had always had a good memory for small things like that. These books were her haven away from the chaos of the real world.

              Shiloh finished reading about the first ball. Glancing out the window, she could see the familiar blue glint of Anne’s bike chained to a tree. Grinning broadly, Shiloh marked her place, slipped the book back on the pile under the desk, and jogged out to meet her friend.

              She entered the den at the same time as Anne, the later carrying several bags. “Who wants Pho?” Anne called. No sooner had the words left her mouth than a brightly colored blur snatched the food from her hands, plopping down on one of the handstitched beanbags that occupied the majority of the room.

              “Did you get me vegetarian?” RiRi asked, already digging through the first bag.

              Anne rolled her eyes, opting not to answer. Shiloh could have laughed-Anne had been catering to all of their dietary restrictions for years; it was unlikely she would forget.

              RiRi found her soup and happily started preparing it, the rest shoved to the side. Ambling over, Shiloh nodded help to Anne and started to rummage for her own. Oliver emerged from his room a minute later, and the four sta down to eat together, pow-wow style.

              “Where are Rose and Peter?” Oliver asked after thee edges of everyone’s hunger were sated.

              “Working late at the shop,” Anne answered. “At least, that’s what they texted me. I suspect they skived off for some alone time, so I brought extras for them to have when they get back,” she added, gesturing to the half empty bags.

              Oliver nodded. Shiloh stirred her soup three times and gulped some down. Minding the tipsy bowl, Anne swung her legs into Shiloh’s lap.

              Understanding through some unspoken bond, Shiloh shifted to stir her soup again while her left hand started lightly kneading Anne’s calves. They were each often sore, and a light massage was always welcome. Usually, they were each glad to oblige. “Went to the studio today?” Shiloh asked, already knowing the answer.

              Sure enough, Anne nodded. “Yeah. My legs are killing me—I need new pointe shoes.”

              Shiloh hummed in acknowledgment, stirring her soup three times, her spoon scraping against the cardboard of the bowl. Anne continued without prompting.

              “I started on a new choreography today. It’s a lot of fun. More modern than I’m used to.”

              They ate in silence for a while. RiRi’s voice broke through harshly. “Would you stop that?” She asked in annoyance as Shiloh stirred her Pho three times yet again.

              Shiloh started. “Stop what?” she asked.

              “Stirring your soup! Three times before each bite. It’s creepy.”

              “Oh,” she turned a blank stare back towards her bowl, setting her spoon and chopsticks down. “Sorry.”

              Almost predictably, Anne’s brow creased in worry. When she spoke, her voice was pitched low so that the other two couldn’t pick up on their conversation. “Are your compulsions acting up?”

              Shiloh shrugged noncommittally, refusing to life her gaze and meet Anne’s steady stare. Anne dropped it with a long look that promised they’d be revisiting the subject later.

              After their meal, Shiloh started to clean the trash from the area as Anne drew RiRi aside for a private talk. Straining her ears, Shiloh managed to catch the tail end of Anne’s sentence.

              “…be more patient…not Shi’s fault…compulsions… struggling…be more supportive…”

              The palms of Shiloh’s hands rubbed fruitlessly at her eyes, feeling the grittiness of exhaustion setting in. Although she appreciated Anne’s willingness to defend her, her faced flushed with anger and shame. She could deal with it on her own, and certainly didn’t need someone fighting her own battles.

              “I just don’t understand,” RiRi’s voice was easier to overhear, her tone lacking the soft lyrical quality that Anne’s always carried.

              “No, you don’t.” Anne snapped in response. She took a deep breathe presumably for composure, and started speaking quietly again. Shiloh moved closer under the ruse of throwing away the bags. “Look, just because you don’t understand something, especially an illness, doesn’t mean you can be disrespectful. It’s like—like Oliver’s MS. You don’t need to understand OCD. Just stop being such a dick about it.”

              RiRi started to respond, but Shiloh had heard enough. She threw away the trash and headed to her room. First, she lay on her mattress, tossing slightly. Staring at the rough sketch of a ballerina, she traced the familiar lines with her eyes. The activity did not calm her. If anything, her thoughts became more jumbled, fingers picking restlessly at the jersey comforter.

              Giving up with a weary sigh, Shiloh stood, pushing her window up and clamber out onto the fire escape. She liked going to the roof when she needed to think, letting her legs dangle over the edge and staring up at the stars.

              So, that’s what she did now.

              RiRi’s impatience wasn’t bugging her. Hell, she was right, it was annoying and she should have a lid on it. Anne was also right. Compulsions were worse, she was jittery and unfocused at the best of times lately. Shiloh hated the loss of control. And wasn’t that what her disorder was supposedly all about? Compulsions leading to a false sense of control?

              She lay on her back, the sky laid out above her. A few blinking starts peered back, not distinct enough to form a recognizable constellation. She missed the stars. In fact, Shiloh didn’t think she had seen a sky full of stars for years. Ah well, small price to pay for living in the city.

              Her fingers listlessly tapped out the rhythm to ‘Ramble On’ by Led Zeppelin. With a shudder, she realized she hadn’t grabbed a jacket before heading up.

              Shiloh stayed outside another few minutes, staring up at the stars and letting her mind go blank. An airplane passed high overhead. Shiloh’s dad used to be a pilot. She distantly wondered if that was him now, way up above her.

              The wind blew, bringing a distinct chill with it. Shiloh heaved herself up and climbed back down. Her rooftop venture left her much calmer than before, if also slightly melancholy.

              Ducking back inside her window, Shiloh latched it and prepared for the next day. She had just flicked off the light and slid between her blankets when the door creaked open.

              “Shiloh?” Anne’s voice called, barely louder than a whisper. Shiloh could feel her presence, barely a foot from where she lay.

              Squeezing her eyes shut, Shiloh stayed very, very quiet and very, very still.

              A silent beat, an intake of breath. Then—

              “Goodnight, Shiloh,” Anne’s voice was closer than before. “I love you.”

              Shiloh squeezed her eyes even tighter. Tension ran along every line of her body. She was sure that if Anne reached out and touched her with a feather-light finger, she would snap like a rubber band. But Anne merely crossed the room, footsteps fading away behind the screen.

              It took Shiloh a long time to fall asleep that night.

[themurphyzone]

Secret Santa Ch 3

I can’t believe how random the last chapter turned out to be.

Ch 3: Zack

Zack could have easily bought Mort a bag of rocks and the guy enjoy it. But he was a lot more thoughtful than that. Maybe he wouldn’t go to the same lengths as Melissa was with her gift, but surely there was something he could buy that was better than a cheesy Christmas card with a candy cane taped inside.

“Mort, you keep forgetting to check your signs,” Bradley frowned, handing the math worksheet back.

Mort shrugged. “Not really. I know I’m a Libra.”

“I meant on the homework,” Bradley scoffed. “I could care less what zodiac your birthday falls under. That stuff isn’t even true.”

Mort never seemed to be affected by Bradley’s sour mood. At least, not outwardly. Besides Melissa, he was probably the only other person with the ability to hold a decent conversation with Bradley for an extended amount of time.

“Oh. Well, thanks. I was wondering why half of these problems had no solutions,” Mort said as erased his answers.

Bradley rolled his eyes, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “It’s the stupid mistakes that net you a less than perfect score.”

He left the library, slamming the door behind him, much to the librarian’s disapproval.

“Wow,” Zack said. “Who spit in his milk?”

“Anyone would be upset if they were cursed with a bad hair day because Jupiter was in the third house,” Mort replied. He glanced up, licking his finger and sticking it in the air. “Do you feel that? Suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t seem as doom-and-gloomy as before.”

Unfortunately, Zack was not nearly as adept as reading the atmosphere.

Zack leaned over the large posterboard, carefully tracing over the title with a blue marker. Melissa reviewed her notes over Macbeth, highlighting certain lines in the book that she’d carefully picked out.

“This is torture,” Zack groaned. “How is anyone supposed to understand Shakespeare? There’s too many thees and thous and thys!”

Melissa recapped her highlighter, setting it aside. “Did you buy a copy with the modern translation next to the original text?”

“No, I checked mine out from the library,” Zack muttered.

“And there’s your problem,” Melissa replied. “But getting back on track, we’ll start with the hallucination of the dagger. What’s taking Milo so long with the snacks?”

Five minutes later, Milo came up with two large bags of chips and a pretzel bowl. He was covered in scratch marks from head to toe. “Sorry it took so long,” Milo said. “A squirrel got into our kitchen, and boy was it hungry. Good thing I always keep some pistachios nearby!”

“You didn’t miss much,” Melissa said. “Zack’s still copying the quotes. His handwriting is larger than mine.”

“Not nearly as neat though,” Zack said, moving on to the last quote. “And I was thinking of getting something like fortune telling for Mort. He has that weird thing about chakras and zodiacs.”

Milo glanced over what they had so far. “Can I do the drawings?” he asked.

Melissa tossed him the pencil. “Do it with pencil first. I want this to look good.”

“No problem!” Milo said, his tongue sticking out slightly as he worked on the rough sketch of a dagger dripping blood at the bottom. “Fortune telling, huh? Maybe I can do some fortune telling to give you an idea of what to get Mort!”

“You know how to tell someone’s fortune?” Zack asked.

Milo nodded. “My dad’s coworker’s sister’s friend’s barber’s cousin’s mother is a psychic! Dad took me to visit her once and she gave me a crystal ball so I can practice on my own!” He pulled a crystal ball and a bandana with hoop earrings attached out of his backpack.

“I guess a break couldn’t hurt,” Melissa said, moving the posterboard and snacks aside. She closed the blinds, which dimmed the light in the room.

Milo tied the bandana around his head, setting the crystal ball on a stand between the three of them. He lifted his hands, but was interrupted by a loud scream from downstairs.

Zack didn’t understand what this was supposed to accomplish.

“MILO!” Sara screamed, the door bursting open as she stumbled into the room. “Oh thank the gods of Yalkelvik, you have your fortune telling equipment out.”

“Hey, Sara! I was just about to help Zack decide on his Secret Santa gift to Mort!” Milo exclaimed. “What’s up?”

“You have to help me! It’s a crisis!” Sara begged.

“You don’t mind me helping her first, right?” Milo asked.

Zack waved him on. “Go right ahead. So what’s wrong?”

“Well, you know how the new Dr. Zone Funko Pops were released yesterday?” Sara chewed her lip nervously. “Neal was going to buy me one for Christmas but then Kris wanted me to go to the mall with her so we’re meeting up in two hours and we’re definitely heading to one of the small stores in the main area of the mall where they sell the Funko Pops and I have zero self-control so I’m probably gonna end up buying one-“ she took a deep breath “-and I don’t know which one Neal is going to buy me and I don’t wanna unwrap his gift and say ‘oh I already have this one’ and I just need to know ahead of time which one he’s buying so I know not to purchase it!”

“That does sound like a conundrum!” Milo hummed.

Zack leaned over to Melissa. “He understood all that? She lost me after Christmas.”

“Now gaze into the mists of...” Milo threw his arms out for dramatic emphasis. “…THE CRYSTAL BALL! MWAHAHAHA!”

Milo’s evil laugh was very unconvincing.

“Wait, no that’s the Saturday morning cartoon villain voice. Should I try again with the mystical fortune-teller voice?” Milo asked.

“Just help me decide,” Sara begged.

“Moment’s gone anyway. First, the spirits require something of value. They accept electronics,” Milo said.

Sara handed her cell phone over, and Milo hid it under the tablecloth. “Spirits, I ask you to reveal the Dr. Zone Funko Pop that Neal is planning to buy for Sara Murphy! I must ask all of you to scoot back. They like personal space.”

Sara and Melissa moved back. Zack leaned closer, trying to see what Milo was looking at, but Melissa yanked him away from the crystal ball. “It’s not like anything was there,” Zack said.

“The spirits have decided!” Milo exclaimed. “They’re sending their spooky spiritual waves into our world to link me with Neal!”

Neal appeared in the crystal ball, looking incredibly confused. “Wait, Milo? Where’s Sara? Nice hoops, by the way.”

“Thanks!” Milo exclaimed. “Sara-“ Sara made wild hand gestures. “Er-I wanted to know what Dr. Zone Funko Pop you’re buying her for Christmas so I don’t accidentally get her the same one.”

“Princess Shirazi,” Neal replied. “She kinda reminds me of Sara. You know, with how excited she gets when there’s something she’s really passionate about. Um, you aren’t going to mention that to her, right? Cause it’s kinda embarrassing when I say it out loud.”

Sara blushed, stifling her giggles with one hand.  

“By the way, Sara mentioned she was going to buy me one of the new figures that got released from Space Adventure. And I’m going to the mall in a few hours with Wally and I really need to know which one she’s getting me because Wally’s gonna pressure me into buying me one and I’ll give in like always so…yeah. I need some help,” Neal finished lamely.

Sara wrote a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Milo. Milo grinned. “That’s funny! My sister says she was going to the mall with Kris in a few hours too! What a coincidence! Oh, and she was planning to buy you the Lump Sharkboard figure.”

“Thanks so much,” Neal sighed. “I was worried for a second-wait, did you say she was going to the mall with Kris? Gotta run, I am totally not finding my trenchcoat from my last cosplay to go incognito so she doesn’t recognize me!”

“Bye!” Milo exclaimed.

“So the crystal ball actually worked?” Zack gasped.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Gullible. He put Sara’s phone in the crystal ball. It was pretty obvious.” She reached inside the tablecloth and extracted the cell phone, giving it back to Sara.

“Sara?” Zack asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

“I’m going to put on oversized sunglasses and a floppy hat so he doesn’t recognize me,” Sara said as she hurried to her room.

Was this what teenage romance looked like? In that case, Zack decided he wanted to maintain his sanity for a while longer.

“They’re made for each other,” Melissa quipped.

“I know right!” Milo exclaimed. “Okay, Zack. Your turn now. Same procedure as before.”

Zack emptied his pockets, only finding a penny inside. He sheepishly offered it to Milo, who refused to take it.

“They have bad inflation in the spirit world,” he said as if that explained everything.

Starting tomorrow, Zack planned to refuse all offers to connect to spirits and psychics.

Zack took off his shoes instead, which Milo accepted. “So what do the spirits say about Mort?”

“Tarot cards,” Milo replied. “They say you need to give him tarot cards so they can tame his moles. I can’t tell if they mean the animal or the spots on skin though. Oh, wait a moment. Sorry, claim his soul. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“How about I just get Mort an 8-ball instead?” Zack asked. “That’s probably a lot safer and soulsucking risk-free.”  

[julielewis127]

Tue. 17 September, 2019

Woke up late this morning; of course, that might be because I was reading on my phone until nearly 2 AM and had to be up before 7 to get to school on time. Then there was jazz band for an hour (flutes and jazz don’t really mix, but I’m trying to make it work). Then marching band for an hour and a half (that’s a total of 2.5 hours right there, folks), and then I had a ‘study period’ thing during first period which just so happened to be, you guessed it, band. And that was a little more than 45 minutes, so adding that all together means about three hours in band. A simple hour and a half of honors calculous later, and I was out of school by 12:07. I did have to search for my great-grandmother, though, as she was supposed to call and tell me where she would be parked, BUT someone (me) left her phone in the car this morning: that was fun [note the sarcasm]. 

My drum major counter part (if you don’t know what a drum major is, you will either need to abandon this blog now, or learn real soon) was at the doctors, so I had to set up the ladders and speakers and yard markers by myself on the practice field - or, I would have, but I convinced one of the band captains to help me carry everything down to the field (it’s a lot for one girl to carry, okay?. But, I digress). Overall, not a bad morning.

Made a 100 on the quiz today in math (complex rational expressions!) And then had nothing to do for the rest of class, so I doodled in my dot/grid notebook thingamajig. It was distracting, at least. I hope no tree-huggers out there are offended (but if it helps, the quiz was online, so no paper wasted). If it wasn’t obvious, I am in high-school, but I have half- a class schedule because I am taking classes at the local community college as well (for free!!). So, going down that trail, I was assigned a group project due in two days to make a social media account (complete with posts) to present (with said group) on Thursday. We’ll see how that goes, you might be updated tomorrow (unless I forget that I’ve done this...anyway).

Moving on, I got carry out from a Mexican restaurant fo lunch with my grandma (she’s my great-grandmother, but everyone calls her grandma); I had a taco salad, and yes it was worth the half hour wait time, thanks for asking. I did not have my daily nap today, but I did doze off a little; hopefully that means I’ll still be able to sleep tonight. Seeing as it is 9:20 and I’m kinda sleepy, I’d say I will fall asleep *knocks on wood*. Tomorrow is another day, full of college applications and stress - oh! its one of my best friends birthday! (there are only three people I would call ‘best friends’, and even though there’s only supposed to be one they all help me in different areas of my life and don’t interact with each other). He’s turning 17, and is still the only man I can talk to w/out panicking (he’s very into dudes and not into women (kinda scared of them, actually) so it works out - I’m giving him some of my nail polishes, b/c he steals his sister’s and its all crappy and old. But shh, it’s a surprise.

Anyway that’s all for now, my dad left so it’s just me and my cat here, and I am about to play the sims or something IDK. 

-J