#Sketch for friend done during cool down last night

[h3lian]

“I’m sorry.” “Ambrosius…”

[eldritchxembers]

Aris was 15 when he ran away, following the Grateful Dead with nothing but a backpack, his cat (with her harness and leash) a sketchbook, and the hope that life on the road would offer some kind of escape, after all - a life on the road was what his mother had raised him with - it was what he had grown up understanding. The grief from his mother’s death still gnawed at him, the fear of his relationships with Obi-wan and Optimus - his foster fathers - weighed heavy on his chest. He had realized that he loved them, and he wanted to stay part of their family — but what did that mean for his mother? Would she be replaced? Would he forget her? 

The Deadheads, with their carefree attitudes and endless wanderlust, seemed like the perfect cure.

But after a month, the fantasy wore thin. The music was great, the people kind, but the loneliness, the uncertainty, the constant search for a place to sleep began to wear him down. He hadn’t planned on being found, but of course, Obi-wan had other ideas.

Aris had just finished sketching the crowd in Chicago when Obi, with his hands in his jacket pockets and looking oddly out of place in the sea of tie-dye and patchouli, casually dropped down beside him, as if they were meeting as planned.

“Nice seats,” Obi said, settling in without missing a beat. His voice was warm, teasing, like Aris wasn’t states away from home - like he hadn’t left without a note.

Aris didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved.

“How did you find me?” Aris muttered, not looking at him.

Obi-wan chuckled softly, stretching out his legs. “Sky, you’re not as slick as you think. You think you’re the first runaway to follow a band he loves because you’re angry at the world? Been there, done that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to find me.”

“Clearly.” Obi’s tone softened slightly. But Obi did find him, as Obi always did. With that quiet determination and the kind of dad instincts that could track a runaway across the country. Obi knew, of course, about the Dead. He wasn’t some square who had no idea what his rebellious son was up to.

They sat in silence for a while, the music swelling from the stage, blending with the hum of the crowd. Aris felt Obi’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t meet them. He didn’t know if Obi could see how far gone he was, or if Obi just knew more than he let on.

Aris expected anger, a lecture, something to break the tension. But there was none of that. Obi didn’t demand that he leave or guilt-trip him in front of the crowd. Instead, Obi just sat next to him, waiting, letting Aris’s own guilt settle over him.

“You’re not dragging me home?” Aris asked, unsure whether to feel relieved or suspicious.

“Oh, I’m dragging you home,” Obi replied, his tone dry but not unkind. “But I bought a ticket, so we might as well enjoy the show first. They’re about to play ‘Friend of the Devil’ You don’t leave before ‘Friend of the Devil.’”

It was the last thing Aris expected. He thought he’d be getting a hard talk, maybe a stern ride back home where he’d pack up his bag and he’d be kicked out. Instead, they stayed. They watched the rest of the concert.

Aris didn’t admit it at the time, but it turned out to be one of the best nights of his life. They didn’t talk much during the show—Obi just sat beside him, nodding along to the music while Aris sketched furiously, capturing the energy of the crowd and the lights and the freedom.

When the final song ended and the crowd cheered, Obi nudged Aris. “Now, don’t get me wrong. The Dead’s cool and all, but if you’re gonna spend your time with bands, we’ve got to broaden the scope. Ever heard of Jethro Tull?”

Aris stared at him. “Who?”

Obi laughed, as if the thought of someone not knowing Jethro Tull was utterly ridiculous. “Of course you haven’t. Listen, I’m seriously regretting not playing Aqualung for you earlier." Obi kept the mood light, cracking jokes and sharing stories about his own rebellious days. He talked about hitchhiking to music festivals in the ‘60s, how he once spent two nights sleeping in a tent that smelled like wet socks. Together, they walked out from the venue and Obi led Aris to a payphone. Aris knew what was coming. Obi handed him a quarter with a look that wasn’t asking, just telling.

“You’re calling Optimus,” Obi said, his tone firm but not unkind.

Aris hesitated but only for a moment. He took the quarter and stepped up to the phone, the dial tone ringing in his ear. He felt the weight of everything he hadn’t said, the things he couldn’t say.

“Hello?” Optimus’s voice came through, steady and warm.

“Hey, it’s me,” Aris said, trying to keep his voice even, even though his heart was beating faster now.

There was a brief pause. “Aris? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good,” Aris replied, glancing over at Obi, who wasn’t eavesdropping, but was still there, reading the back of the phonebook, but Aris suspected he was only pretending to. “I just… wanted to call. Let you know I’m alive.”

“Of course you’re alive,” Optimus said - tone sharp at the idea that maybe Aris could have been hurt or killed, and Aris could hear the worry. “Obi’s with you, right?”

Aris sighed. “Yeah. He found me.”

A pause. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad you called.”

“I’m sorry,” Aris said, his voice quiet. “I shouldn’t have run.”

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re okay. We’ll figure it out when you get home, alright?.” 

Aris swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

When he hung up, Obi was standing there, waiting. “You good?” Obi asked, his eyes soft.

“Yeah,” Aris said, more to himself than anyone else. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear Optimus’s voice until now. “I think I am.”

Obi slapped him on the back. “Let’s get going then, Sky. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

By the time they were in the car heading home, Aris had almost forgotten he was supposed to be mad or disappointed. Obi filled the car with stories, jokes, and laughter. “You think I’m joking? I once got stuck in a bus station for three days because I couldn’t read the schedule properly. But hey, that’s the charm of living on the road.”

When they got home, Optimus was waiting at the door. He didn’t say anything at first—just pulled Aris into a hug, solid and steady. It wasn’t the punishment Aris had braced himself for. It was something else. Something he didn’t know he needed.

The next day, Obi handed him a Jethro Tull cassette and then a small bag of additional tapes of music. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid,” he said. “But first, let’s start with the basics. You’ve got four months of being grounded to soak this in.”

Aris lay in bed that night, staring at the stack of tapes Obi had given him. The titles weren’t familiar, but the weight of them—the weight of Obi’s trust, his calm presence, his patience—felt different. Maybe it wasn’t about the music. Maybe it was about the way Obi found him, and how, despite everything, Optimus and Obi-wan welcomed him back instead of giving up on him.

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

Aris burst through the door with a breathless laugh, his heavy combat boots thumping against the hardwood floors as he made his way into the living room. He didn’t knock. He hadn’t called ahead. The air was light and easy, the kind of evening that invited pure, unfiltered joy. Without missing a beat, he launched himself into the couch, flopping down between Obi-Wan and Optimus with a dramatic thud that sent a ripple of laughter through the room.

“Made it,” Aris said, throwing his hands in the air like he’d just finished a race. He stretched out, his long legs splayed across the cushions, his tattoos catching the soft glow of the lamp light. There was no hesitation in his movements now, no caution. Just the same pure joy that had always been there, but now it radiated from him in every action, every smile.

Optimus looked over at Obi-Wan with a small, knowing smile. They didn’t say anything. There was no need for words. The shift was undeniable. Aris, at 28, had grown into his space in the world, and his comfort, his ease, was the most noticeable change. The boy who used to hover in doorways, unsure of where he belonged or how to occupy a space, was mostly gone. In his place was a man who knew that at the least he belonged in the space his fathers’ built.

Aris rested his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, his hand draped over Optimus’s knee like he’d always been there. His eyes closed for a moment, savoring the quiet comfort of being home.

No words were needed. He was home. 

It was the kind of setup that seemed perfect, the kind of family setup Aris never thought he’d have. The laughter of kids down the street echoed in the distance, but for now, it was just the three of them.

Aris had always been the wild one, rebellious in his youth, but now, he was a different version of himself. The frantic energy that once fueled him had settled into a quiet kind of confidence. His tattoos, which now covered most of his arms, chest, and back, were a map of his journey. One of the newest additions was on his forearm, fresh ink still dark, his homage to his fathers.

“Still not sure how you convinced a tattoo artist to mix Autobots with Jedi, kid,” Optimus joked, his deep voice steady as always, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Aris laughed. His fingers absently traced the edge of the tattoo. “I didn’t convince her. I think she was just relieved I wasn’t asking for something lame.” His eyes glinted, a playful edge to his voice that had become more common over the years.

Obi-Wan chuckled softly, shaking his head. He hadn’t been surprised by Aris’s choice—he’d known all along that the boy’s love for them profound. “You’ve always had a way with those who wield the needle.”

Aris’s smile softened. He had never been one for many words about what he felt. Emotions, for most of his life, had been things to either bury or outrun. But the two men sitting with him were different. His dads had always been patient, always knew when to push and when to give space. Tonight, though, it felt like the words he’d been holding back were ready to spill.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really said it, but I… I love you guys,” Aris said, his voice quieter now, the playful edge gone. It wasn’t a revelation. He’d shown them in his actions, in how he’d stayed close, how he never left. But still, those three words, the words he could never bring himself to say as a kid, felt like something new.

Obi-Wan looked over at him, his eyes soft with understanding. “We know, Aris. We’ve always known.”

Optimus, ever the protector, stretched out his arm and clapped Aris on the shoulder, a move that had been affectionate since Aris first came home to them. “Yeah, Bee. And we love you too. Always have.”

This family wasn’t just the life he’d been born into. It was the one he’d built - right alongside his fathers and his siblings. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever really… told you both how much I needed you,” he continued, his voice still quiet, but steadier now. “I’ve needed you more than I knew. All the things I ran from… you two were everything I needed to stay here, to stick around.”

Optimus’s eyes watered, and he cleared his throat, his gaze meeting Obi-Wan’s for a moment. “We’re glad you stayed.”

“Guess I’m just lucky,” Aris muttered, the words soft but true. “Got two of the best dads anyone could ask for.”

Obi-Wan ruffled his son’s hair. “We’re lucky too, Aris. You’re our son.”

[nctsworld]

lucky strike

✩ renjun x reader | college au | fluff | friends to lovers | 2.3k 

SUMMARY ⇾ you ask to stay over at your friend’s place on campus for the night, which leads the two of you to realize your feelings for each other. WARNINGS ⇾ fluff, kissing, roommate!haechan, haechan’s a little shit RATING ⇾ teen+ PROMPT ⇾ college au + fluff REQ BY ⇾ anonymous 

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Tomorrow, you have a midterm at 6pm, then another at 8am the next day. Since commuting would already eat away so much of your time, you ask around in hopes that you could stay with someone on campus overnight to make your life easier. Unfortunately, most of your friends are either off-campus or don’t have the space to spare. 

Except for your friend in acapella club, Renjun. 

Knowing he lives on-campus, at the end of your practice, you explain your situation and inquire if you can stay with him tomorrow evening. You don’t think it’s a huge deal since you two have been friends for almost a year, yet his eyes widen at your question as the other members trickle out of the room. Despite his reaction, he doesn’t hesitate in his response.

“Yeah, sure. I have room at my place.” He stands up and lets his backpack hang from one shoulder. You do the same, but with a pleased smile now that your search is finally over. “Although... do you remember Donghyuck?” 

“Oh yeah, he sometimes drops in during practice, right?”

Renjun nods, “I’m sure you could tell how he is from those few times. Even though he’s my friend, he’s also a little shit and, unfortunately, my roommate.” 

The two of you begin to walk out of the room, shoulders brushing against one another, and into the open hallway. 

“I doubt he couldn’t care less if you’re coming over, but do you think you’ll be okay with him?” 

He scrunches his nose cutely in genuine concern, a habit you notice he often does during practice when frustrated. You chuckle, waving your hand and his worries away. 

“I’m sure I can handle him, Renjun.” 

Suddenly, the young man stiffens due to the arms that drape around his neck, dragging him into a hug. Although this isn’t the first time you’ve done so, he still freezes from the embrace. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” you whisper softly into his ear, squeezing him tighter to show your gratitude. 

Because of your firm hold and how you’re cheek to cheek, heat rises upwards to Renjun’s face and ears. He ponders if you can feel his warmth on your skin, and if you can feel the knocking of his heart against your chest. Carefully, he hovers a hand over your back, fingers ghosting over your body to reciprocate the hug.   

“Yeah, of course.” 

“So, you like her?” 

Later that evening, Renjun informs Donghyuck of your upcoming presence in their apartment during dinner in said apartment. The latter’s question is expressed, which causes the noodles that are about to be devoured by Renjun hang in the chopsticks near his agape mouth. 

“No, why would you say that?” 

The roommate snickers at the defensive rise in Renjun’s voice before picking around the plate filled with grilled meat in front of him.

“Why would you let her stay over at our place?” 

The follow-up question stops Renjun once more from eating. The noodles continue to drip the soup base back into the bowl and splatter a bit of it around the table. The older roommate furrows his eyebrows and spews, “Because I’m a good friend?” 

Squinting eyes filled with doubt stare back at Renjun. He sighs, shaking his head. 

“Just be on your best behaviour tomorrow, yeah?” he says, finally stuffing his face with the noodles. The younger of the two sticks one piece of meat into his mouth and quickly adds a few more. 

“Mmm, no promises,” Donghyuck mumbles with his full cheeks, now shoving the white rice from his bowl into his mouth. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing!”  

The next evening arrives fast. After finishing your midterm, you rush on over to Renjun’s apartment and are greeted by his candied smile as he opens the door. 

“Hey, come on in.” 

While you’re removing your shoes by the front door mat, you peer around and find his place quaint. It’s a little run-down and not the most spacious apartment; you’re directly standing in the small kitchen and it’s only a few steps from the slightly bigger sized living room. However, there’s a balcony that oversees a nice view of the campus, a fireplace across from the couch and coffee table, and, for two college boys, the space isn’t as messy as you expected. 

“How was your midterm?” 

“Don’t ask,” you groan. “I’m not looking forward to the next one.” 

“Well, I’m sure you did well.” Renjun beams in comfort, but you’re too focused on taking your shoes off. 

You set your shoes aside, ensuring they’re not obstructing the doorway. Standing up, you ask, “So, where should I set down my stuff?” 

The host opens his mouth, ready to answer, but a familiar figure comes out of a room to cut him off.

“Renjun’s girlfriends always stay with him when they come over, so you can put your stuff in his bedroom—ow!” Your friend jabs his elbow into Donghyuck’s rib cage and you stifle a laugh. 

“Ignore him. Anyway,” you trail behind him, entering the living room. “If you don’t mind, I was thinking you could sleep on the couch. There’s also the fireplace, so it’ll be nice and warm and—” 

“It’s perfect,” you interject, halting Renjun’s rambling. “Again, I really appreciate it.” 

You touch his arm for a brief moment, smiling warmly at him, before you place your backpack down beside the couch. His hand grazes over the spot on his arm and he nibbles on his bottom lip. Then, a low rumbling occurs from your stomach.   

“Have you eaten yet? I’ve been dying to get food since the midterm.” 

“Not yet. Let’s go pick something up.” 

Also dying for food and dying to get away from his roommate’s existence, Renjun hastily turns around towards the kitchen counter to take his keys.  

“Can you get food for me?” Donghyuck chimes in. 

With his back facing Donghyuck, he shoves the keys into his jean pocket. “Are you going to pay me back?” 

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Then, no.” Renjun turns and flashes him a snarky grin. 

It’s not like sass and sarcasm didn’t exist in Renjun’s vocabulary, but it’s amusing to you to see him act like this outside of acapella club.  

Your friend and you begin to put your shoes on, but the third figure in the apartment whines and groans endlessly for Renjun to pick-up dinner for him. 

“If I buy you something, will you leave us alone for the rest of the night?” 

Your sudden offer and brazenness shocks Renjun, yet leaves an impressed smile on his face. 

Leaning against the wall, Donghyuck folds his arms against his chest and eyes you up and down. You hold your ground and stare back at him. After a long beat, he faces Renjun.  

“I like this one,” he comments and waggles his finger at you, as if you aren’t there. You roll your eyes, realizing Renjun really wasn’t exaggerating when he said that his roommate was a little shit. 

“Is that a yes?” 

The little shit nods, “Renjun will let you know what I want. You two lovebirds don’t take too long now!” 

You’re the first to step out the door, so you don’t see Renjun baring gritted teeth at Donghyuck, causing the latter to flinch out of reaction. Both of you exit the building complex, heading towards the pack of restaurants on campus. 

On the way out, Renjun makes a deliberate effort to not bring up the topic of being labelled lovebirds from before. You don’t bring it up either, so he assumes you aren’t thinking too much of it. 

Little did he know, it’s actually all you’re thinking about; his roommate just shined a new light on how you see Renjun. 

When you return to the apartment with food in hand, Donghyuck keeps his word and eats in his room, leaving both of you on your own. 

Perhaps it’s because of the seed that was planted by his roommate, but over the last hour or so, you’ve been hyper aware of how you interact with Renjun, and vice-versa—how at ease you are with him; how he makes you laugh effortlessly; how he listens intently, hanging onto every word you say; how his stare often lingers on you; how, despite having different majors and interests outside of acapella club, both of you simply click, fitting as one like a lock and key. 

Come to think of it, this is the longest time beyond practice you’ve spent one-on-one time with Renjun. Sure, you’ve hung out during get-togethers at other members’ places and at the yearly retreat, but being alone with him is different. It also feels right, as if you should do this more often. 

After the food’s gone, Renjun questions if you’re going to study more for the evening. You answer with a shake of your head, citing you’ve studied enough today and will likely do more before you sleep. 

You propose, “Are you busy with anything tonight? Do you wanna watch movies or something together?”  

“Sure. Anything in mind?” 

Pouting in thought, you reply, “I’m kind of in a Marvel mood. Do you like Marvel movies?” 

The grin that forms on Renjun’s face isn’t alien to you, but it produces a remarkable feeling in your chest, one that doesn’t come regularly to you. 

“I love them.” 

Sinking into the couch, you observe the host prepare one of the Avengers movies on the living room TV. When he’s done and sits next to you, he reaches for a remote, which turns the fireplace on, fittingly warming up the apartment on this cool, autumn evening. 

Your attention is on the movie for the first bit, but it begins to transition onto the handsome individual next to you. He’s so invested in the movie, even though he’s apparently seen it a million times. Your gaze sketches the outline of his jawline, absorbs the beauty of the nuances in his expressions, and then rests upon his hand laying on his thigh. 

Impetuously, you reach for him and hold his hand gently within yours. 

Like with your hugs, Renjun freezes upon your touch, but it’s even worse than those occasions since this time, he almost forgets to breathe. He blinks once, twice, before glancing down, not moving his head whatsoever, at the reality of your affectionate touch. When he peers up at you, you’re pretending to be fixated on the screen. However, your face says otherwise—your lips are pressed together in a simper, cheeks puffing out in nervousness. 

The hand-holding is awkward since your fingers aren’t laced together, so Renjun anxiously draws his hand away, fearful of wrecking the moment with the absence of his contact, then hurries to intertwine his fingers between yours. 

Neither of you break apart nor say anything throughout the rest of the movie, enjoying each other’s company and new level of intimacy in comfortable silence.  

As the movie ends and the credits roll on the screen, neither party on the couch hasn’t let go of the other’s hand yet. 

“Renjun,” You’re the one to break the extended silence in a delicate murmur. You recline and settle your head onto the curve of the couch. You blink at him and he follows suit, blinking back at you merely a few inches away. Your thumb rubs circles against the back of his hand. “I like hanging out with you.” 

His throat goes dry, so he gulps, then whispers back: 

“I like hanging out with you too.” 

It’s not a blatant confession, but both of you understand the underlying intention of your words. 

Your head cranes forward and meets his lips. The first kiss is a chaste one—very still, the pressure of your mouths pressed against each other lightly. 

After a bit, with your heads still laying on the couch, Renjun raises a hand to cup your cheek, deepening the forthcoming kisses. His lips are soft and smooth, his kisses tender and careful. You’ve only had a small taste, but you already want to drown in his kisses forever. Both of you lift yourselves off from the head of the couch and shuffle your bodies closer to one another, increasing the excitement of the budding affection. 

“Don’t mind me, I”m just getting—” Donghyuck gasps at the sight in front of him. 

At the intruding voice, one of Renjun’s eyes shoots open. He attempts to wave his roommate off, hoping he won’t ruin the moment.  

“I knew it!” he mouths, prior to grabbing a drink silently from the fridge. Respecting his promise, he scuttles off back to his room. 

Studying is a forgotten concept as the two of you make-out for the next few hours upon the couch. The crackling and warmth of the fireplace engulfs your bodies amidst the intermittent giggles and sighs. 

Eventually, you withdraw from his addictive embrace and prepare to go to bed. You decide it’d be best to keep to the initial arrangement of you sleeping on the couch. Renjun respects your decision wholeheartedly. 

But neither of you don’t say your last good nights until you’ve shared a few more kisses first.  

When morning comes, following a brief cram session of studying and you getting dressed, you knock on Renjun’s bedroom door. You open the door slowly, head peeking through to ensure you aren’t catching him in a state of indecency. A small smile creeps over your face, indulging in how adorable and angelic he looked as he slept. You shake him lightly, stirring him half-awake.

You drop onto your knees beside his bed, whispering, “Renjun, thanks for letting me stay over. I had a really nice time last night.” 

“Mmm, of course,” he grumbles, eyes barely open. 

“I’ll text you after, okay?” 

He groans mechanically in response, making you feel a tinge of guilt for disturbing his peaceful sleep.  

You give him a good-bye kiss, simply a peck on his lips, but when you rise and turn around, you don’t expect the sleepy figure to grasp you by the wrist, dragging you down for a more intense kiss. 

“Did you really expect to leave me with a kiss like that?” he mumbles into your mouth. 

You’re thankful to be on campus since the lecture hall is close by, so you have the luxury to stay for another ten minutes in Renjun’s arms, and you’re definitely going to be staying on campus a lot more often in the near future. 

[nbrook29]

Kiss or Slap

Sander doesn’t remember when exactly their group made the riverside near the Scheldt their new hangout spot, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it as a cold breeze washes over his overheated body, providing a momentary relief against the scorching heat falling from the sky. It’s probably why the park is fuller than it usually is on Thursday afternoons, packed with people spread on their picnic blankets, searching for a bit of shadow under the big trees and desperately craving a bit of wind. 

It’s so hot he doesn’t even feel like sketching, preferring to just lie on the grass without moving a single muscle, and dying in peace. Even the enticing smell of cinnamon rolls that Noor brought with her isn’t enough for him to reach out and take one from the basket, the action requiring too much movement on his part.

“Guys, come on, we have to start or we’ll never get it done! Sander, get your lazy ass up.” He grunts when he feels Leon’s merciless fingers jabbing him in the ribs.

“Can’t we wait until it gets a little less hot?”

“No, cause that’s not happening in the nearest future and we need new content,” Nathan butts in, followed by Noor, which makes Sander officially outvoted. So he heaves a deep sigh, puts his shirt back on and ruffles his hair to make himself more presentable, rolling his eyes at Noor’s appreciative whistling.

“Someone’s gonna snatch himself a bunch of kisses today with that smoldering look,” she teases, pretending to give him a once over.

“Is that your way of telling me you want one for yourself, sweetheart?” He’s immensely proud of himself when her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

“Eww, no, feels like incest at this point.” Which is kinda true given the fact they’ve known each other since kindergarten and became best friends making sand castles. He fires an obnoxious wink at her, fully anticipating a shove which comes as expected within seconds, with Noor calling him a creep in between laughter.

“Who should we start with? Senne? Wanna go first?” Sander watches as Leon takes out his camera equipment and checks the settings as the rest collects their things.

“I guess, yeah. And then Nathan after me?”

“I’m not doing it, man, you know Britt, she’s gonna flip out.”

“Be a good reason to break up with her,” Sander mutters under his breath, not really feeling apologetic when Nathan shoots him a glare. It would be a long time coming, and honestly, Sander can’t wait for that moment to come. Just being in her presence gives him chills, she’s that much of a horrible person. A few years ago, he read something about alternate universes and sometimes when he looks at her he can’t help but think there’s a history there with the two of them, in a past life or something. At least it would explain that weird energy between them.

If it’s true, he feels very sorry for that Sander. 

He roots for him to run far away from said devil’s spawn.

“I can go next, I don’t have the ball and chain,” Noor says innocently, but she’s smirking over Nathan’s shoulder at Sander who pretends to high five her in their shared hatred for Britt.

“Yeah, us lonely birds will sacrifice ourselves and take the hit for the wellbeing of our channel,” Sander laments playfully, making Senne snort.

“Dude, you’re on your own by your own choice.”

“And pickiness. Don’t forget pickiness,” Noor adds smugly.

Sander huffs in protest. “I’m not picky! I just...” He cuts off because he’s not about to just explain it all now.

“Just what?”

“Specific about what I want.”

Brown curls, brown eyes, shortish, lean, pierced ear, cute giggle, elegant hands and a smile brighter than the sun. 

To be exact.

“Yeah. That’s picky.”

“Whatever,” he replies grumpily, and decides to ignore Noor’s knowing look. Sometimes he feels like she has a sixth sense and can read him like a book. Or she’s just less oblivious than the boys in their friend group. That’s a totally possible option too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push him further (she’s awesome like that), though Sander has a feeling she’s gonna grill him later when they’re alone. For now, she checks her lipstick in her phone as they all briefly plan the video.

Not like there’s that much to plan; a few days ago, they decided to shoot a kiss or slap challenge for their YouTube channel because it had been wildly requested by their viewers.

Sander still doesn’t quite know how he became a part of a YouTube channel in the first place, always considering himself to be a bit more, well, sophisticated than that? But Leon was into it from the beginning and made them all participate in exchange for free beer, until one day one of their videos blew up.

If you can call getting 100k views on one video blowing up. 

Anyway, they got semi-popular amongst Flemish teens and even managed to snatch a sponsorship with Mentos (however small the offer was) that paid actual money. And he had just managed to move out of his family house so any money coming his way he welcomed with no questions asked. 

So they’ve kept shooting silly challenges slash anything else that’s a trend at a given time and have been able to cover their art supply needs with what little they earned. And, though Sander refused to admit it in the beginning, it’s actually kinda fun. It’s definitely better than his part time job at Pull&Bear where he has to deal with obnoxious customers on an almost daily basis.

They record a short introduction near the river, quickly going over the rules and explaining that the three of them will be competing in who gets more kisses versus slaps. 

“Hey, you know what, this is actually unfair cause you both can kiss anybody,” Senne points out all of a sudden, receiving four pairs of unimpressed glances.

“No one’s stopping you from getting kisses from boys too, dude,” Sander is quick to shut him up, shit-eating grin on his face as he gives him his first (light) slap to the cheek. 

They follow Senne around the park with a camera as he turns on his charm and smiles sweetly at the girls he chooses for the challenge, doing surprisingly well on the first few attempts. But when they venture deeper into the park and he tries his luck with college girls, he gets 5 slaps in the row to the rest of the group’s utter delight. In the end, his results are a blow to his pride and even Sander feels sorry for him, giving him a pat on the back while trying to hold his laughter in at Senne’s grumpy face.

Noor does much better, naturally, as her upbeat personality and a wide smile have always made boys and girls turn their heads. She gets a kiss after kiss, blush after blush, and two phone numbers in the process. Senne argues again that it’s unfair because no one’s gonna slap a girl anyway, but Leon just calls him a sore loser while Noor shamelessly flirts in French with another girl right in front of the camera.

Sander’s very proud.

Taking a quick sip of water, he gives Leon a thumbs up and starts his round, coming over to three blond girls chilling near the skateboarding ramps, trying very hard not to come off as creepy and clarifying the kiss part being only a cheek kiss. The girls erupt in giggles, but they all grant him a light kiss. One of them tries to flirt with him after, but he shoots her down before she can get too into it.

“Such a heartbreaker, you,” Noor coos at Sander’s pained face when they all walk away.

“That’s you, and you actually enjoy it,” he quips back, sticking his tongue at her.

“I do not, shut up!”

Fifteen minutes and fourteen kisses later he’s officially in the lead, sealing his victory with a kiss number fifteen he receives from a cute redhead. He’s gloating in Senne’s bemused face about nobody choosing to slap him when he stops in his tracks.

It’s the proof of his hopeless infatuation that he’d recognize that laugh everywhere.

He looks around for its source, but he comes up short. Then, his eyes focus on the skatepark area and his heart starts beating faster.

Because it feels like a sign. Like the universe is giving him a chance to finally do something. Make a move.

“Hey, can we shoot one more try?” He asks the guys, trying to sound casual while glancing furtively in the direction of brown curls.

“You’ve already won, but I guess?”

Nobody questions him about his reasons, they just follow him to the ramp.

And he’s so fucking nervous. 

It’s incredible, really, how he generally has no problems talking to people he’s interested in, conversation flowing without him even trying, gaining easy smiles and appreciative looks wherever he goes, some natural confidence to him. 

But that boy. That boy is something else.

He makes him question everything he says, makes his palms sweat and makes his deep hidden shyness come onto the surface.

Sander saw him for the first time during Open Day at the Academie in may, strolling casually through the hallway with his friend, completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to Sander’s heart.

That was the day Sander saw an angel. 

Fate placed him on his path again sooner than he could’ve hoped, the boy participating in a 2 week film course at his school only several days after he saw him for the first time. And he tried so hard to convince himself to talk to him over that time, but he only managed a few smiles while passing him by in the hallway. 

That and that one stupid joke he said to him while they were waiting in line at the cafeteria that makes him cringe in despair just thinking about it. Seriously, it’s like his entire cool evaporates when he’s near him.

But, the boy laughed at it. So maybe it wasn’t as horrible as Sander is making it to be. Or he was just being nice. 

Robbe. 

Robbe, who he’s been crushing on ever since that fateful day in may.

Robbe, who was at the same party he was last weekend.

Robbe, who he talked to at that party and managed to calm his nerves enough to be charming and funny.

Robbe, who giggled, blushed and bit his lip at Sander’s dumb jokes that evening.

Robbe, who slipped through his fingers because Sander blacked out soon after.

He almost never drinks, but that one night he did, celebrating the beginning of summer break, and not realizing his usual abstinence meant he was now officially a lightweight. What an awful timing.

Robbe doesn’t notice him right away, having his back turned to him while talking animatedly to his friends. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile to his face to hide his nervousness, he approaches them.

“Hey guys, got a second?”

He notices the recognition in Robbe’s face right away, and Sander shoots him a quiet “hi” when his eyes meet his, an unsure smile blooming on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” One of the boys nods at the camera.

“I’m Sander, and we’re shooting a video for our YouTube channel, the kiss or slap challenge,” he quickly explains, the boys’ faces lighting up.

“Hey, we have a channel too! I’m Moyo, this is Jens, Aaron, and Robbe.” Moyo reaches out to bump his fist with him and damn, Sander has to find that channel if Robbe is a part of it.

Jens levels him with a look. “So, you want us to kiss you or slap you?” 

“Pretty much, yeah?” Sander chuckles because he’s aware it’s ridiculous, but he’s a man on a mission here, give him a break.

“I think Robbe should represent all of us, don’t you think so?” Moyo proposes, tongue in his cheek as he checks with the rest of his friends. Sander catches the death glare Robbe sends the boy before looking back at him and crossing his arms, looking a bit out of place. And, fuck, the last thing Sander wants is to make him uncomfortable.

So he asks softly, “you’re in?” and waits for agonizing five seconds as Robbe watches him, eyes narrowed, before his features smooth out and he smiles at him.

“Sure, why not.”

Relieved, Sander lets out a chuckle and tries to keep his cool. “Okay then - kiss or slap?”

Robbe squints against the sun and makes him wait another few seconds before he answers, but Sander’s not worried because there’s a soft smile on his face and obviously his angel wouldn’t-

“Slap.”

Wait, what.

He can hear his friends bursting in laughter at this unexpected turn of events while Sander can only stare in shock because how could he miscalculate the situation this much?

Gulping, confused and heartbroken, he asks, “you’re sure?”, to which Robbe nods with a poorly hidden glee.

“But you have to close your eyes cause I can’t hit you while you're looking at me.”

Heaving a deep sigh and trying to save a face despite the humiliation flooding his body, he nods and closes his eyes, steeling himself for it.

But it never comes.

Suddenly, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and he flinches a little, but then soft lips touch his in a kiss so gentle he blinks his eyes open, not knowing what’s happening.

“That was payback for you promising to call me and not keeping your word,” Robbe whispers against his lips before leaning away, something sad and wistful passing through his face. Sander is left completely dumbfounded, ignoring the hollering from the two groups as his eyes fleet all over Robbe’s face.

It’s difficult for him to collect his thoughts because holy fuck, Robbe has just kissed him and he’s internally freaking out. He finally manages to get his bearings when the remnants of a smile slip off Robbe’s lips.

“I-, Robbe, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you. At the party?” He doesn’t look like he believes a word Sander is saying.

“Um, I kinda blacked out and don’t remember much after like one-ish?”

“You saved it though, I saw you typing it in,” Robbe argues again, but this time he doesn’t look so sure. “Wait, what’s your number?”

Sander watches him entering digit after digit before hitting call. He fully expects a plain number to appear on his screen, eyes widening when he sees what pops up instead.

zk bambieys 🥺🦌👁️💘🧡💖💞 calling

“Fuck, you did give me your number.” He’s not fast enough to hide his screen from Robbe, but he can't even feel embarrassment once he notices the frown disappeared from his face.

“Bambi eyes?” There's a teasing note in his voice, but his pink cheeks sell him out.

Sander scratches his head. "I was very drunk, you can't hold it against me. Also, your eyes are really beautiful," he clarifies, winking when Robbe laughs at his shameless flirting. "Hey, I tried to find you on instagram, but nothing came up. I was really hoping we're gonna bump into each other again. Sorry for being a dumbass and not realizing I had your number this entire time?”

“It’s okay.” Robbe shoves his hand into the pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels. Sander decides to put them both out of their misery and take the initiative.

“So if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

It looks like Robbe’s about to nod, but then he bites his lip, an almost cheeky smile directed at him. “I guess you have to call me to find out.” And then he gets on his skateboard and casually skates away to the nearest ramp, pulling a surprised laugh out of Sander.

If he was intrigued before, now he’s totally smitten with this wonder of a boy, because damn. 

Their friends finally seem to regain their voices and speak over each other at what just happened, but Sander doesn’t pay them any attention, just takes out his phone again and pressing the call button. 

Watching as Robbe comes to a full stop at the top of the ramp, he cocks his head with a grin and waits until he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sander.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Robbe laughs into the speaker.

“Will you go out with me?”

He meets his eyes across the skatepark as Robbe makes him wait again.

Then, with a smile so radiant it overshadows the sun, the boy finally gives him his answer.

“Yes.”

[dearkusuo]

Unchanging

Synopsis: He was content with the simplicities life had to offer, while you sought out the world.

Pairing: Saiki Kusuo x artist!reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

Word Count: 3.6k

You first heard of him back in your second year of high school. There was nothing about Saiki Kusuo that stood out to you, but your good friend, Yumehara Chiyo, thought otherwise.

“Don’t you think Saiki looks like a prince? He’s so dreamy that I can’t keep my eyes off of him. He’s so cool and mysterious,” your friend blabbered. If by cool and mysterious, she meant cold and aloof, then you completely agreed. 

Even the popular pretty girl, Teruhashi Kokomi, seemed enraptured by him, despite Saiki’s unwillingness to shower her any attention like every guy in school. She never told you about her crush on him, but it was obvious through her body language alone that she was smitten by the pink-haired boy.

You didn’t understand their fleeting infatuation for someone they hardly knew - never experienced the feeling of falling hard for someone from the depths of your soul that they were the only person you could think about. And you were perfectly content with that. You had bigger dreams to achieve than a small high school romance that wasn’t guaranteed to last long anyway.

The Okinawa school trip was an outing that all the second years in PK Academy were looking forward to, you included. Although you had a feeling that your friends, Chiyo and Kokomi, had different intentions for tagging along. 

They must have been so elated that the three of you ended up in the same group with the boy they liked.

You carried on disregarding Kokomi and Chiyo’s painfully obvious antics to spend time with their beloved prince charming until later that evening when you decided to take a walk outside the hotel alone. You convinced yourself that a late-night stroll would be an enjoyable pastime, but really, you wanted to get away from the love-struck fantasies of your two friends who were oblivious of the fact that they were both pursuing the same boy.

You don’t know how long you’ve been wandering around, but by the time you returned, the hotel had disappeared from your sight. Two recognizable figures stood by a large hole torn on the ground. A battered ship had risen from the gap where the building used to be.

Toritsuka Reita from Class 2-2 stood next to your pink-haired group member while Saiki had a hand directed at the ship, indicating that he was the one causing it to float midair. Your jaw dropped in disbelief at the sight before you.

Saiki turned his head in your direction as if he knew you were there all along. He kept his usual blank composure, although you could recognize the wary look in his eyes as he stared at you. Toritsuka panicked upon the realization that you were there to witness the whole scene.

You didn’t know how you should've reacted when the two boys told you of their psychic powers. 

“I won’t tell a soul,” you promised.

‘I know,’ Saiki’s voice echoed into your mind.

The rest of the trip went by smoothly after that incident. Kokomi subsequently spoke out about the crush she had on Saiki, and Chiyo announced that she had fallen for Kaidou Shun. 

You shook your head in wonder at the orange-haired girl. It was astonishing how quickly she was able to abandon her feelings for one boy and move on to someone else so quickly.

You realized that love was brief and ever-changing like the ticking seconds on a clock. There was no point in wasting time on such a fickle emotion when the only thing you would devote yourself to were your ambitions for the future. 

Nevertheless, a subconscious bond had been formed between you and Saiki after you learned his secret. 

You shared a glance with the psychic from afar as Kokomi relayed to you the dream she had of the boy she liked.

He was kinder and a lot less indifferent than you originally thought. Saiki wouldn’t admit it, but you would notice the subtle acts he performed to help out a troubled stranger and the small deeds he initiated to prevent harm from coming across the people around him.

 You finally acknowledged Saiki as a friend after he deliberately shared his umbrella with you during a particularly rainy day.

‘Good grief. I was feeling generous today, so this is nothing. Just make sure to come to school prepared next time,’ he had told you after you first rejected his help in worry of troubling him.

You found out much later that he could have stopped the rain with his abilities.

The empty café was tranquil save for the scratching of your pencil as you scribbled on your sketchbook. Saiki sat across from you, paying you no attention just as you did to him. His usual stoic expression was abandoned as he blissfully devoured his coffee jelly.

“I have a dream. After high school, I’ll travel around the world for a bit. I’ll join a bunch of art competitions and win a bunch of awards. Then eventually, I’ll go to an art school in New York so I can major in Illustration. And maybe I might even make a best-seller manga one day,” you mused.

‘Isn’t it a little too early for us to think about the future?’ Saiki retorted.

“Maybe. But I’ve had this dream for as long as I can remember.”

Art class was the subject you looked forward to the most in school. Not only because you excelled in many art mediums, but also because you took pride in the techniques you honed over the years of endless practice.

For the day’s lesson, you were to pair up with one person in the class and draw each other’s portraits. You casually looked around the room in search of anyone available.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Kokomi rushing up to Saiki with an excited smile as she called out, “Saiki, do you want to-” a majority of the boys in class crowded around her before she could say her piece. Saiki walked up to you instead, asking if you wanted to pair up with him. 

You glanced briefly at Kokomi, feeling a tad bit guilty for stealing her choice of partner while she was being surrounded by her group of fans hoping that she would choose one of them. But you couldn’t bring yourself to reject the pink-haired boy’s request.

Taking a seat from across each other, you adjusted your easel so you could get a better view of Saiki’s face. Despite the red tint dusting your cheeks from the intimacy of his peering gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him. You perceived for the first time that Saiki was actually quite good looking.

You looked down at your page so you could sketch his appearance: the antennae on his head, his green glasses, soft pink hair, slender neck, smooth lips, chiselled face, sharp eyes. You looked up to take a quick peek at him again. 

 The constant blinking on his impassive face made your eyes widen in amusement and you frantically placed a hand over your mouth to prevent a snort from escaping.

‘Why are you laughing?’

“Because you’re blinking so much that it looks ridiculous,” you explained with a chuckle.

‘I have to keep on blinking so my x-ray vision resets. I’m trying to get a look at your face.’

You let out another coy giggle despite the heat rushing to the tips of your ears. He looked down at his paper to continue his piece with a warm smile barely present on his face.

You concentrated on your own illustration, marking down his affectionate expression before Saiki could return to his blank face, and showing it off as soon as you finished.

‘Not bad. Now take a look at mine.’

He flipped his paper over, exhibiting an intricate and beautiful portrait. The focused expression he depicted on your face while you drew him looked so alluring. You almost didn’t recognize it as your own, even though it was practically a mirror image.

"This looks way too realistic for someone who's trying not to stand out."

'It should be fine if it's you.'

You didn't understand what he meant, but his words caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

‘I need your help,’ A familiar voice spoke in your mind.

You jumped in surprise at the unexpected appearance of the pink-haired boy you had grown fond of. Your sketchbook flew out of your lap, falling right at your feet.

“How did you know I was here?” You asked with a huff.

‘In case you forgot, I can hear your thoughts. I know that sometimes you like to come here to the school rooftop during lunch.’

“Oh,” you uttered. “Well, since you came all this way to see me, what can I do for you?” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

'I need you to help me reject Teruhashi.'

You pursed your lips in uncertainty.

"Kokomi is my friend, and as her friend, you can't expect me to hurt her feelings."

'As my friend, you can't expect me to lead her on when I don't ever intend on returning her feelings. She'll get hurt either way. All I'm asking is for you to help me avoid her so she'll get over me.’

You knew he was right, but you were still unsure of meddling in a situation you weren't a part of, especially when it involved the feelings of your close friend. You looked out the window in contemplation.

“Why are you asking me? Mikoto would be a better choice.”

‘I trust you more, so it has to be you.’

You ignored the churning in your stomach as you casually threw your hands up, giving in to his request.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

‘Thank you.’

Saiki bent down on one knee, reaching out to grab your fallen sketchbook. 

“I can pick that up myself, you know, or you if you wanted to help me that badly, you could’ve done that levitation thing you always do.”

‘I know.’

He held the book out, watching you through his glasses while he knelt by your feet. A saying Chiyo once told you a long time ago reverberated at the back of your mind: “Don’t you think Saiki looks like a prince?”

You gripped the sketchbook in his hand. Saiki’s gaze burned on your orbs as your image reflected off his green lenses. Neither one of you let go, even when your fingertips brushed against one another.

“What colour are your eyes?” You wondered.

‘Violet.’

“Major in Economics at Sayftee University and major in Literature at both Komman University and Ahvraj University,” you read out Saiki's school survey. “These are all surprisingly in character for you, but do you really have no dreams beyond living an ordinary life?”

‘I’m too busy thinking of ways to stop the volcano eruption to worry about my future.’

“You have a point there. Any luck with that?” you inquired.

Saiki shook his head.

“I guess that means we’ll be second years again.”

You didn’t keep track of how long time had been looping, and you found that you didn’t really care since you were already accustomed to the familiarity of your seemingly endless high school life. You were happy, even if it meant that the dreams you’ve been chasing for so long were slipping farther away from your grasp with every day that passed.

‘No, it’s about time I put an end to this.’

Saiki’s determined expression was embedded in your mind.

Your screams of disbelief were muffled by the pillow you held against your face. 

You had vowed to yourself since you were young that you wouldn’t grow attached to anyone. After all these years, you had to go back on your word just when you were about to leave.

Now was not the time. Not here. Not with him.

Kokomi and Chiyo took it upon themselves to pay you a visit after you skipped school for five days without notice. The dark circles under your eyes and your sunken face visibly worried them.

“I’m in love with Saiki,” you murmured, gazing sullenly at your blue-haired friend. “I’m sorry.”

Kokomi’s face fell, but she showed no signs of surprise.

“I already knew that. It was obvious with the way you always look at him,” she lamented. Kokomi cupped your balled fists in her hands and looked at you wistfully. “He rejected me a few days ago, so you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I think you two would look good together.”

You felt tears threatening to spill over your eyes. Whether it was from relief that Kokomi accepted you so easily or pain from your unfortunate situation, you didn’t know.

“I’m leaving Japan after we graduate,” you disclosed.

A dejected silence fell upon you three until Chiyo spoke up, “For how long?”

“An indefinite amount of time.”

“Are you ever coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

Their glum faces only worsened your mood.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

You tensed at the accusing tone directed at you. Saiki’s piercing gaze was pointed at your shrinking figure.

No matter how much time had passed since the loss of his abilities, you doubted that you would ever get used to the sound of his voice resonating out loud, or the enchanting shade of his eyes, even if they looked dangerously menacing at the moment.

“I wasn’t avoiding you. I was just busy studying for exams and doing other stuff,” you explained weakly.

Saiki’s deadpan expression indicated that he didn’t believe your lie.

After a few minutes of squirming underneath his scrutinizing gaze, you gave in and told him your worries, “I’m leaving the country soon. I think we should stop talking to each other so that it won’t be so hard for us to say goodbye.”

You pushed past him. You didn’t know where your feet planned on dragging you, but you figured anywhere was fine so long as you could get away from him.

The familiar warmth of Saiki’s hand wrapped around your own, stopping you from taking another step away. You didn’t dare turn around as you felt your heart thumping wildly.

“I won’t ever ask this of anyone else, so I’m begging you not to push me away,” he pleaded. He placed your hand over his chest, giving away the heavy pulsing of his heartbeat.

You could never say no to him.

Memories of the last few years ran through your mind as you smiled at the nostalgia. You took one final glance at your high school building before turning your back on it, striding towards the exit. 

You stopped at the sight of a familiar figure standing under the shade of a cherry blossom tree. Saiki must have known that you were staying much later after the graduation ceremony, all thanks to his restored powers.

‘Good grief. Were you really planning on leaving without saying goodbye?’ His voice resounded in your head.

You didn’t respond as you watched the wind blow through his hair, the sun illuminating the affectionate smile on his face, the violet obscured by his green glasses, and the petals dancing around the two of you as they fell to the ground. The timing was right. The mood was right. Everything was right.

He rubbed the back of your hand while you reached out to intertwine your fingers with his. The warmth that radiated off his skin felt like home.

He knew, and you knew that he did. After all, you could never hide your secrets from a psychic, no matter how hard you tried. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him how you felt.

“Goodbye,” you pulled away from Saiki.

What was the point of confessing your feelings to someone you would never see again?

Paris, France was one of your destinations out of many. Most people romanticized the capital as the City of Love, but the only reason you were even there in the first place was to visit the Louvre, the world’s largest art museum. 

Influenced by the art and the romantic ambience, you sketched out the scenery around you, deliberating how you could embody the city on paper. If you were to draw a picture of love, what would you envision? 

Maybe, it would look like pink locks tousled by the spring breeze, or the reflection of your eyes searching for violet orbs through tinted green glass. It might have been the lingering warmth on the fingertips of someone who trusted you enough to share their deepest secret, or the gentle smile that was reserved only for you during the most intimate of moments.

Your love was constant and unchanging. You realized that now. No matter how much time had passed or how many countries you visited, you always found yourself thinking about home.

Ever since you were a young student in junior high, you had hated the thought of giving up on your dreams to pursue a flighty, insignificant relationship. Six years ago, you threw away your chance at love to focus on your aspirations. There was no point in thinking back on what might have been. You shouldn’t have.

 You made a name for yourself through the many art competitions you joined, winning a few awards here and there. A while back, you finished your Bachelor's Degree in Illustration at a famous art school in New York. Things were coming together quite nicely.

Your high school days almost seemed like a lifetime ago. The memories that used to be the center of your universe, the laughter you shared with your friends, and a not so ordinary boy with psychic powers were at the back of your mind. Everyday life without the only person you've ever loved became the norm for you.

You recently got a job offer from a famous publishing company in Japan after you posted a short comic that blew up in popularity. The editor in chief sealed the deal with you after you sent him a promising draft for a manga you had planned out. 

It had been years since you’ve been to the country, but your return and the nostalgic surroundings brought back old recollections that made you feel like you were a teenager again.

The chief took it upon himself to give you a tour around the company, showing you the work environment and the employees. He guided you through the different floor levels, offices and workrooms, and acquainted you with the higher-ups. But he had yet to introduce the editor you would be working with.

"There he is."

The chief led you towards the figure of a man who had his back turned to you. The pink tuft of hair on his head and the silly-looking antennae shaped into joysticks poking out of his scalp were noticeably familiar. But you couldn’t believe it.

He turned around, green-tinted eyes boring into yours with the same neutral expression you used to see every day. Even when you had anticipated who it was, you couldn’t help the breathless gasp that escaped your lips.

"This is Saiki Kusuo. He will be the editor in charge of overseeing your work,” the chief introduced to you.

You took the hand Saiki held out for you, shaking it courteously. His blank expression didn’t fade, but his eyes softened under your gaze. The warmth on his grip was just as comforting as you remembered, like the welcoming embrace for a loved one returning home. 

Neither one of you let go.

"Well, since it's already after work hours, you guys should grab dinner and get to know each other. You'll be working closely for a while, after all," the chief suggested before leaving you and Saiki alone.

A hushed silence washed over both of you as the world disappeared before your sight. The image of a cherry blossom tree on a sunny spring day was evoked in your mind.

He sat next to you in a secluded booth of the café you used to frequent, away from prying eyes. 

"What happened to majoring in Economics and Literature?" you asked.

Your body was angled in his direction while you engaged him in conversation. Despite the many years apart, you and Saiki had fallen back to the easygoing relationship you once shared.

'I finally had time to think about my future, and I realized that this is what I wanted.'

“You wanted to be a manga editor like your dad?” you prompted.

‘Not quite.’

Saiki was composed as usual as he turned to face you.

'I have a dream. After you accomplished your goals, we would find each other again and spend the rest of our lives together. And maybe we might even make a best-seller manga one day,’ he mused.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest. The words you couldn’t bring yourself to say on the day of your graduation poured out unthinkingly from your throat.

“I love you.”

He placed a hand on the back of your neck, closing the distance between you.

‘I know.’

Your lips crashed into his, moulding perfectly as they moved against one another. You gripped his shoulders, pulling him in as he snuck an arm around your waist. Your eyelids fluttered shut, relishing in the sweet sensation of his taste.

You only pulled away minutes after to catch your breath. His forehead leaned against yours, the tip of your noses barely skimming each other. The look of adoration in his eyes revealed that he felt the same way.

No matter how long he waited, your love for each other was unchanging.

[matthewbeilschmidts]

It’s been a long while since I’ve posted but I’m so glad that I am :’)

This is for Day 1: of @prucanweek - Ordinary

Apologies for spelling errors, it’s a little short but I hope you enjoy 😭💞

-

Matthew doesn’t mind that he’s living an ordinary life. Really.

He grows up near the coast, two parents, a fraternal twin brother, and their gangly hairless cat, Tony (picked curtesy of Alfred). Their parents take them everywhere they can during their childhood, the beach, museums, sports game. They focus on their interests, figuring out what the two like and dislike, as they encourage them both to be themselves and do what they love no matter what. Alfred debates between whether he likes wrestling or football more, while Matthew settles into hockey. In between family get togethers, community festivals, and endless sports training, they somehow have time for homework. (The two share answers a lot.)

He and Alfred each have their own rooms when they enter their teen years, a space to decorate and fill with their own mementos and awards. The sports continue, but later their parents find themselves a little bit busier than before. They do though, give them as much time as they can during the school year, never wanting them to go without someone by their side.

Matthew fades into the background a little bit as they get older, while Alfred puts himself front and center. Matthew watches once with a hand over his eyes as Alfred auditions for the school musical, and surprisingly he read and sings the lines well. “It’s always the rowdy ones!” their theater teachers says after he’s finished performing, a mix of anticipation from planning on putting Alfred on stage and dread at the thought of having to manage him.

Matthew silently supports him, after all he has his own things to do.

He’s the co-caption of the hockey team, the coach giving him the position to give him a little more of a voice, and his teammates verbally agree, considering on the ice Matthew has a lot more to show than he does in person. He accepts, albeit hesitantly.

By the time graduation comes by, Matthew can barely believe how the time has passed. His team even wins a championship under his watch. Some of his fellow classmates look so ready to go out and experience the world, and it’s scary to him because weren’t they all going at the same pace?

His parents talk him through picking his college of choice, and he decides to go. He needs to do what everyone does and experience the world.

And if he decides he wants to come home, that’s okay because at least he tries.

-

He’s in his first art class during his third year at university. The time has been going well, he’s got pretty decent grades and has managed to join a few clubs. But he’s not done yet. Extra curriculars, can’t finish without them. He prioritizes his general education first, and even slips himself into a few major classes early on, but humanities is on record now and has to be completed no matter what one’s studying.

He can get through one semester, he hopes.

Next to him, a student is snickering and the professor doesn’t look amused.

“Gilbert.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“If you’re done, I can introduce myself now.”

The professor goes in with complete, in-depth introductory slides with her name and credentials, and a briefing of all they will overcome this semester.

He’s never been an artist, at least not one that picks up a pencil and creates a realistic masterpiece with nothing but that and a pad of paper. Maybe some poetry contests in high school, if that counts. The written word has its own impact, its own set of colors to breathe out for the world to see.

There’s another snicker, interrupting his internal monologue.

He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know the student, and it’s not his place to control others. But, if it starts to hinder the class, maybe he’ll tell him something. He’s paying to be there, too.

The man catches him staring.

“Yes?” he asks Matthew without being spoken to in the first place.

“Oh,” Matthew flushes at being caught, not that he was trying to hide it anyway. “Well, she didn’t say anything funny?”

The guys waves a hand, making a “psssh” noise as he does.

“I’m just laughing because of how formal this all is. She won’t be this dignified later in the semester that’s for sure. She’ll be ripping her hair out.”

Matthew glances back, he doesn’t want to say anyone looks mean but, he would believe it if she was.

“You look scared,” the guy laughs, which is rude because isn’t he the one that just put the thought in Matthew’s mind? “She’s not too mean just a sticker to the rules. Will get real pissy if something doesn’t go right.”

“And you still set her off knowing that?”

The man laughs again, but this time around he’s actually trying to contain it behind the thin art easel. He’s not very hidden.

“She’s my cousin’s wife.”

Ah, that makes sense then? Messing with family is normal, but also he shouldn’t be bothering her at work.

“It’s no wonder you seemed casual.”

“She taught both of the lower division figure drawing classes, too. This is my third semester in her class. She’s the only one teaching this specific class I didn’t have too much of a choice.”

“Art major?”

“Yep! And you?”

“Psychology major. I have to get in some cultural classes.”

“Ever taken art?”

“Actually no, not even in high school. I got through that stuff by working backstage in the theater department.”

“Well not to worry my friend, because you picked the best one.”

“Is it easy to pass?”

“Nope. Well, maybe if she likes your work,” Matthew deflates at the blunt response, “but don’t worry because I’m here to be your guide.”

Matthew perks up, but it takes him a moment. This guy’s gonna help him?

“Are you any good?”

“Am I good?” He looks perplexed Matthew would even ask. Matthew has to cover his own amusement. “I may not look it but charcoal and I go way back. I’ll show you my work later as proof.”

“Deal.”

“Gilbert, since you’re adamant on talking, you can be the first to introduce yourself.”

Even if his name wasn’t said, Matthew feels just as guilty. Caught, for talking on the first day of all things.

“Gilbert Beilshcmidt. Fourth year. I’m an art major and my favorite breakfast food is pancakes.”

Matthew looks surprised that he was paying attention, even to the last addition of their introduction. Matthew’s not sure he would have known considering he was distracted.

-

And so their friendship starts.

-

Gilbert sits next to him again. And again.

Where ever Matthew sits in the art room, Gilbert follows not too long after.

Some days they take the sitting desks, some they stand and lean against the stools.

And despite not even talking much, Gilbert treats him like a friend.

-

“Do you have any plans this afternoon?”

“Nope, this was my last class.”

“Do you want to get some coffee and work on our sketch books.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Matthew finds himself meeting Gilbert in his downtime. Every Thursday after drawing for three hours becomes the day they meet. At first, all they do is draw, little more.

Gilbert is animated in all moments, but he has short spurts where he focuses exceptionally on his work. Matthew is no art critic, but he thinks Gilbert expresses himself quite well on paper. Graphite, charcoal, and pastels, all the utensils glide easily without a single stroke missing its mark.

Watercolor though, could use some work, which actually happens to be Matthew’s favorite. Even if the intention is to guide the colors with a brush, it’s okay for them to take a life of their own spreading across the thick paper.

They share snacks, art supplies, and their time.

Gilbert proves himself very useful as he promised. Matthew though never planning to be the next Van Gogh, has to pass this class. And it would be nice to pass it with flying colors, but some concepts are harder to grasp than others.

It’s obvious to tell he’s a beginner, while Gilbert excels. Matthew finds out he only now needs the intro class since it’s the first semester it became a requirement.

Gilbert helps him find the shapes he’s comfortable with, explains the processing for hatching and how it relates to shading. And while he’s no expert, he sees a subtle improvement over the next few weeks that makes some pride swell within himself.

-

“Do you want to come with me and my friends to this cool bar for dinner on Friday?” Gilbert asks about a month into the semester.

It’s the first time Gilbert and him will have spent time off campus.

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

-

Gilbert’s friends are just as animated as he, it’s almost hard to keep up. Overwhelming as they are, they’re extremely welcoming. Matthew eases into the atmosphere, joining in when he can but mostly pleased to be out and doing something different.

He’s made friends during his time, but like him they’re a little more reserved and pick quieter places on the town.

It’s fun. And he wants to go out again.

Matthew invites Gilbert and his friends to watch his next hockey game.

After their shock in finding out he plays such a violent sport, they’re all agreeing and planning to find the best seats in the arena.

-

“Are you serious. Are you hiding muscles under that red sweater?”

Gilbert pokes at him, it tickles when he gets closer to his biceps, but he knows he’s only teasing.

“You think I’m playing but I’m serious! You should have been there, well you were there. On the stands, I mean. We all screamed after you sent that player flying against the wall.”

Gilbert recreates the motions, but only slams himself into the wall and whines after he bounces back. He then plays it off like it doesn’t hurt. Gilbert’s not a very good actor.

People tell him it’s so much different watching him on the ice, but it’s still him. He’s always wondered how much different, he feels like himself. He just knows he goes into the zone when he’s in his gear. He just wants to win. And he will.

“It’s like night day,” Gilbert continues. “You were ready to kill a man down there.”

“You’re not the first to say that. I guess maybe, I could be a little more out there in real life, huh?”

Gilbert stops walking.

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“You’re perfectly fine the way you are. I like the way you are, so don’t go change. I don’t want to be at risk of dying during art class.”

And as silly as it sounds, he’s pleased. He likes Gilbert a whole lot, too. Just the way he is.

-

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Matthew takes the initiative.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, just you and me. I want to take you out.”

“Like you did to that guy on the court,” Gilbert laughs nervously.

“On a date. Gilbert, would you like go out with me?”

He says yes.

Later that evening when he’s heading home, Gilbert starts running through the courtyard cheering that “I have a date with the cutest guy I’ve ever met!”

Matthew’s window is open, he’s face is bright red and he slams head first into his pillow. He needs to plan the best first date ever.

-

Three months into dating, he’s finally heading home again for a school break. He wants to take Gilbert with him, who is waiting for the next major holiday to go back home. But isn’t it too soon? They haven’t been dating that long, after all.

But Gilbert surprises him, and jokingly says he wants to go with him because he’ll miss him too much while he’s gone. And then, Matthew asks if he seriously wants to go.

“I do.”

So they ride the 3 hours train down to Matthew’s childhood home. He’s a little bit nervous, because he’s had dates to school dances, and brought friends over, but this is entirely different. This is someone he wants to take a serious step with, even if the time hasn’t been that long. They’ll never get anywhere if they don’t, so they’ll both take the leap and pray it works out.

“Mom, dad, Alfred, this is Gilbert.”

It’s the most timid Matthew’s ever seen him.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Matthew’s boyfriend.”

After he shakes all their hands, he takes his hand back to link pinkies with Matthew.

There’s not an once of regret in his mind as the long weekend passes.

-

Gilbert graduates the next year, and the year after it’s his turn. They’re going to move in with each other. Gilbert really has no irresistible urge to go back to his home town, satisfied with just visiting a few times a year. And Matthew thinks he would like to go back closer, just to figure out his next move. So, they go together.

It’s only a one bedroom, but is more than enough space for them both. Gilbert finds work as a docent while Matthew works for a second degree in education.

He still plays hockey for a local league, Gilbert becoming their number one fan. They find their own rhythm, a pace that works for them both, where they can settle down or speed up when they agree with each other. Dewey mornings, warm summers, chilly evenings they spend them altogether.

They decide move up North closer to Gilbert’s hometown. Matthew’s more nervous meeting his grandparents than he was introducing Gilbert to his own family, but Gilbert assures him again and again they’re just a stuffy old family who actually really care about each other a lot more than they let off.

Gilbert’s grandfather towers over him, despite being a hair above 6 feet. He’s silent, eyes boring into Matthew as he introduces himself. And to end all of Matthew’s worries, the elder man pulls Matthew into a hug and tells him he’s glad him and Gilbert are home. Gilbert, just as perplexed as he, stares, but he melts into a pleased laugh.

Yeah, this is his and Gilbert’s home now.

-

They stay, for a long while, contemplate moving a few times, but they’re satisfied for now.

Gilbert and him always make time for each other, continue their own respective interests with complete support of the other. They’re never afraid to complain, because they always work through it rather then let it simmer.

Gilbert’s vivacious spirit keep them going, and Matthew’s heart keeps them grounded.

His life at first seem a little bit ordinary, but how can he complain when the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves in and stayed locked in tight.

[slater-later]

i'm not saying prompt 10 with brian kelly,, but that totally is what i'm saying... please? :)

OH YES!  *cracks knuckles* I’m on this boat before it even sailed!

20/10 I really enjoyed this prompt. It was *chefs kiss* glorious. I love Brian Kelly with my whole heart. I’m rewatching the movie right now as we speak!

******

The two of you had aged. The long nights spent together, sitting together at the skate spark, munching on a bag of chips and an Arnold palmer, had shifted. 

You first met at the park, the boys and him grinding some railings over a long flight of steps. You had to watch, curled up on the park bench drawing. They hadn’t noticed you at first, curled up with your legs crossed as you marked your sketchbook. Drawing the flipping skate boardings and fast motions of their legs. It was a perfect way to fit in some figure drawings practice. They were so well absorbed in their tricks and banter, they didn’t notice. 

You had filled about a full page and half of their bodies, arms spread wide in the air as they balanced their board on the pipe. Grinding the worn rail with fresh marks, leaving a trail of red behind. 

Brian was having some trouble making it to the end of the line. He’d get about two-thirds of the way down and lose his balance. Clamoring onto the hard concrete steps with a shout, rolling down the rest of the way. A few times, he was able to land on the steps and kept on running, kicking his feet forward to run through the momentum. And the throb at his feet. He was furiously bright red in frustration, knees buzzing in ache. He was relentless and stubborn. He wanted to finish the trick!

And slamming his skateboard on the ground wouldn’t fix it, though it did happen a few times. It got him nowhere.

He had caught wind of your eyes. Curious as he was, he ran up the hill, wanting to say hello. 

“Whatcha got there?” He smirked.

“Hm?” You picked your head up, head milky from the self-absorbed high of drawing. “Oh, I was making some sketches of you guys. Is that okay?”

“Okay? Hell yeah! That sounds cool,” He laughed, gleaming. “Can I see?” He eyed your book. 

“Sure,” And you spun it around, his face lighting up. He had never seen something as fun as this! He loved skateboarding but add art? Even sicker! 

“God, this is amazing! You’re really good at this,” He tapped at one of your pictures, enjoying the style. You passed it to him. “I wish I could do something like this, I’m jealous.”

You laughed and he passed it back to you. You showed him another page of your drawings, “It’s not that hard, it’s practice,” You paused, showing him another. “And time, lots, and lots of time.”

“Hol’ up-” He stepped back, snapping his board to his feet. “Can you do something like this?” He pulled an olley, snapping his feet and the board into the air. 

“Yeah, I think I can… Just give me a sec…” Your eyes squinted, snapping the moment into your mind and making a fast sketch. Enough to get the gesture. 

He waited until you finished, sliding into the seat next to you. Patiently waiting and observing. “My god… You’re the next Picasso,” He mumbled, dumbfounded.

“Picasso wasn’t a great guy… but he was a good artist. Though, I appreciate the compliment.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know,” He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Do you want to come down and hang out with us? You seem really fun.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds nice,” And the two of you walked, joining the group of friends.

****

  Slowly, your relationship bloomed. Friends turned to lovers and the two of you eventually moved in together. You both had properly graduated high school and you had enrolled in art school. Brian was taking a year off to work and figure out what he wanted to go to school for her. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

And it had given him time to properly grieve. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to school and work on building a happy life for himself. It’s that the weight and chaos of his last year of high school were overwhelming. He didn’t have the proper time to understand how much the weight of his brothers’ life affected him. He had thought, they would be in each other’s life forever. He still didn’t like going home when he visited his parents, the memory of Vinh lingering. 

Moving in together was good for both of you. It cut your guys rent and living together was easy. He worked at a skateshop by the beach during the day while you went to classes. Taking the bus to get there. He was very supportive of your decision and had gotten your work to hang on the walls of the shop. He was proud to watch you grow. He even talked up your art and beamed when it sold.

Some nights with him rough. He’d be distraught over his brothers' death and the hole it left in his life. You’d soothe him, listening to his words and holding his hand as he cried. Pulling him close, tight.

Other days went well, you two laughing about some silly joke and the faces he’d make at you. He actually had quite the talent of doing impressions, one that you happily egged on.

One thing that you loved, was the sleepy nights in bed. Feet crossed and fished together, slipping against each other’s smooth skin. Brian was like a small radiator. He’d curl up into himself, pulling the sheets of the pillowy duvet cover around him. He’d tug at them, burrito-ing himself, exposing your feet to the cold biting air. 

“Brian-” You’d wine softly, shifting closer to him as you spooned. You could tell he was sad today, he had been quiet all day.

“Yeah?” He sniffled, turning his head softly. 

“Hey- are you alright?” You sat up, pulling his shoulder down against the bed. His face was red, slow tears flowing. 

“Honey,” You cooed, slipping back down and wrapping your arms around his torso. Brian wrapped them around your body, pressing his burry eyes into the pillow as he sobbed. “Shhh,” You whispered, pressing your cheek into his warm chest. “What’s got you upset?” 

“Vinh- again!” He choked bitterly, “I miss him. And I’m so sick of being upset! I hate this Y/N, I want it to end!” He bellowed. His body curled around you, the pressure solid. “I want… I want him back. I wish he didn’t die, I wish I told him how much I cared about him.”

You softly brushed the tears from his eyes, letting it pour out of him. You had learned that this was the time to listen. That you couldn’t change the way he felt. It was grief. “Your love for him is felt, he feels it,” Your soft lips were hushed, like a quiet prayer to his ears.

“I keep thinking if I could have done something that day- like um,” He sniffed, trying to clear his stuffy nose. “I should have convinced him to take that gig at the corner shop,” He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. “But then I stole that box of pop rocks and blew it for ‘em”

“You’re blaming yourself again.”

“I know… I just, I hate that he’s gone.”

You stroked a hand through his hand.

“I’m alright, I’m…” He looked down at you, thumbing your cheek with a heavy sigh. “You know how I get. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, he’s your brother. You should be upset.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled, forcing a tiny smile. Trying to peek a bit of happiness for you. He hated getting like this. He knew it hung heavy on the both of you. “Can we get some pizza? I’m hungry.”

“Of course, Bruno’s? Hawaiian with extra bacon?”

“Extra bacon!” He gleamed, bursting out with a laugh. “You’re spoiling me!” He roared, pulling you up and in for a kiss. “Thanks, Y/N,” He hushed, his tender tone creeping into his voice. His hysterics falling away. “I really appreciate you, for everything that you do. I love you,” And those lips came back, pulling you in close as your fingers slipped together for a deep kiss. “I don’t know what I’d without you, you’re my rock Y/N. Thank you,” He sniffed.

Your feet curled together, bodies relaxing as you took in the stillness of the quiet air. A siren passed, the sound drifting into your small apartment together. The two of you layed together, the hum of your warm bodies melting, the weight of each other a comforting feeling. The two of you stayed like that for some time in silence and your bodies grew sleepy. Unmoving in your quiet support for one another.

Eventually, your tummies grumbled. Gurgling with need.

“Y/N?” He whispered in your ear and you shifted, reaching for your phone.

“I got it,” And you called for the pizza. Delivery.

[transgenderknothead]

I know I've been gone for like ever, but I was working on something super cool, so without further adieu... I Want the Truth a creepy pasta fanfiction just under 2k words!

Truth is undefinable, yes it has a definition, not lying, but how do you determine what’s a lie and what isn’t? It’s difficult, especially when you get different answers from the same person. My mother always tells me I have no memory due to various different accidents. First she said car crash, then she said nearly drowned, then it was kidnapped, her current story is that I had been in a coma for most of my life due to a birth defect. When I ask why her story keeps changing she says she isn’t quite sure what is causing my memory loss, as all of those things happened. My friends and I were hanging out at the old children’s mental hospital, it had burned down about four years ago and ever since my friends and I would go and try to figure out why and how it had burned. So far we had found nothing, nothing that was in one piece anyway, we had found three shattered skull fragments and a lot of broken wood. We’d searched all over the building, except for one room, which we could never open. It was a metal door, that when we tried using axes, hatchets, and even random pieces of wood nearby, they fell apart before even reaching it. We have no idea what’s on the other side, but it feels important, and because my friends are stubborn, we will never stop trying to open it or get inside. “Again!” Toby, my boyfriend, yelled when the head of his metal axe fell off when it made contact with the door. “At least this time we hit it,” I rubbed his shoulder as he slumped, “and it looks like you even dented it.” “If his noodle arms dented it, imagine what I could’ve done,” his athletic twin brother, Evan, flexed. “I don’t know, why don’t ya punch it, see what happens,” Toby argued. “Would you two knock it off,” their 14 year old little sister Jessy rolled her eyes, “what did Mom and Dad say about you arguing all the time?” Toby rolled his eyes, a tiny smile appearing when we made eye contact. “We should head back,” I piped up a little. Back at the house Toby and I went into his room, separated from his twin by a curtain, the tall boy flopping onto his bed. “Are you okay?” I rubbed his back. “Something about that room just,” he rolled over, pulling me with him, “I don’t know, it makes no sense.” “What is it?” “It gives me a weird gut feeling,” he scratched my back lightly, “like something bad is behind it.” I had woken up in the middle of the night, bolting up in bed next to Toby. It was always the same nightmare. I’m sitting in a pitch black room, a fuzzy figure of a purple, pink, blue, and yellow jester with a hammer sitting in front of me. It seemed like it was trying to communicate with me, but I couldn’t hear, or even see, much of it. The next morning we all headed over to the mental hospital again. Toby, having hurt his hand playing guitar last night, was going to let me try opening the door with his brand new axe. So here we stood, axe held over my head, everyone else standing back. When I swung the door flew open and the axe hit the floor instead. “Um, to whichever deity is out there, please help,” Jessy whimpered. I walked in, it looked as though this room had the worst of it. An entire wall caved in, shattered glass everywhere, all of the furniture destroyed. The walls that were left standing had what was very obviously scratch marks from whatever child was in here. “Holy,” I whispered, spinning around to look at the room. I kept looking around until I saw the bed in the corner, it was rusted and broken to no end, but that isn’t what caught my attention. It was the seemingly untouched blue bunny stuffed animal holding a very broken, but unburned, Jack-in-the-Box. I reached for it instinctively, but Toby grabbed my wrist. “Don’t,” he whispered. “I just want to know,” I grabbed the toys, inspecting them, before dropping them and gasping. I slowly picked them back up, and cradled the bunny, who was now missing an eye. “What is it?” Evan stood in the doorway, very obviously too scared to enter the room fully. “My name,” I whispered, just loud enough

to hear, “it’s on both of these.” I twisted the toys to show the red stitched name on the bunny and the carved name on the box. “Oh god,” Jessy whispered. I clutched the toys to my chest and started running back. “WAIT!” Toby called. “I have to know, I need to know the truth about my memory, and the truth about these!” I yelled when he caught up to me, he let go and let me run. “Whoa, slow down kid, where’s the fire,” my mom jokes. “What’s this,” I held up the toys and her face went pale, “don’t even think about lying, I want the truth this time.” “They were a couple of toys your childhood friend’s gave you before they left,” she replied. “Okay, new question,” I stood up straighter, “why were they in the mental hospital?” She gasped and dropped her tea cup. She smiled, looking at me, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Mom, why can’t I remember anything? Don’t give me a story like you do every time.” “You still believed in imaginary friends,” she cried, “you were twelve, that’s not normal for a 12 year old kid! I had to do something to make you realize they were fake!” “So putting me in a hospital and drugging me into forgetting was your grand solution?” I yelled. “You don’t understand,” she started. “You’re right, I don’t understand, but what I do understand is that I’m not the type of person to believe something I haven’t seen, or hasn’t been proved to me,” I crossed my arms, knowing what I had to do. “Don’t do anything stupid,” my boyfriend spoke when they finally caught up. “I have to know,” I spoke before turning around, taking the toys with me, and running into the woods. I ran for a long time, a couple of memories coming back to me. Playing with a tall stuffed clown, a tall red headed man with long hair and wearing a feathery jacket handing me the blue bunny, setting the fire in the hospital. Eventually, I ran up to a familiar metal gate that led to a run down carnival. I opened the gate and it creaked. My heart was pounding in my chest as I clutched the bunny tighter to my chest, the Jack-in-the-Box in my hoodie pocket. I heard a twig snap by the merry go round, causing me to run into the hall of mirrors. I fell against a wall trying to stop myself from crying. “Oh Gumdrop,” a singsong voice came from the entrance. I hid farther into the dark corner, “you don’t need to hide, we’re friends!” I watched the black and white clown look around the room, his hands on his hips. His eyes meet mine, he smiles wider and gets closer. “Jack!” A voice laughed from behind him, the jester from my dreams stepped forward. “It’s her!” Jack pointed, and the jester looked my way. “I’ve been tryna reach ya,” he pulled me out of the dark, “but ya never heard me!” “I’m sorry,” I whimpered, his grip wasn’t tight, but I could tell neither of them were human. “Don’t be sorry! It aint your fault!” The jester giggled, pulling me out of the hall of mirrors and into the big tent, where three more inhuman entities were talking and working. One was a shorter man with black hair, a sketch pad, blue jacket, and a white mask with a red smile sitting next to him. Next to him was a more average height man with dark grey skiing, all black clothes, golden eyes, and what looked like a puppet hanging from golden strands of light coming from his fingers. Across from him was a very tall white haired man dressed like a magician and holding a wand. “There you are,” the man with the sketch book said. “We’ve been waiting for you to come back,” the grey man next to him continued. “She doesn’t remember us,” the magician looked at me. “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Don’t apologize!” The jester rolled his eyes, “we’ll just reintroduce you!” “I’m Laughing Jack!” Jack spoke, “you used to call me L.J. for short!” “This is Puppeteer, who you called Pup,” the man with the sketchbook pointed at the man with the puppet. “This is Helen,” Puppeteer smiled, pointing at the one with the sketchbook. “I’m Papa El De Grande,”

the magician spoke, “you always called me Mr. Magic.” “I’m Candy Pop!” the jester tickled my sides, “you called me Pop.” “Where’s Jason?” L.J. looked around. “His workshop, fixing Mr. Bun Bun,” Puppeteer said, “it’d be best if she went alone.” Puppeteer took me over to a red and white tent near the big one. He told me to just go in, and that he’s never been mad when I was around because he never wanted to scare me away. “Jason?” I poked my head in, and was greeted by a big stuffed purple worm covered in patches. “Glutton!” A voice yelled from farther into the tent, “get over here!” I followed as the worm snaked towards a redhead man with golden eyes, putting an eye on the rabbit that I had come here with. “Jason?” He looked up at the calling of his name, smiling gently when he saw it was me. “It’s been a long time, Dolly,” he handed me the bunny, standing up he towered over me, “come on, let’s go for a walk.” During the walk he answered all of my questions that my mother refused to answer. He caught me up on all of the missing details of the past. And eventually led me back to the front gate. “It’s nearly time for you to get home,” pat my head. “Remember to just wind up the jack in the box when you want to see me!” Jack waved. “I’ll visit ya in your dreams again tonight, maybe now you’ll be able to hear me!” Candy Pop laughed. “Come back tomorrow,” Helen waved from his seat on the stairs of the merry-go-round. “Oh my god,” a voice came from behind me, my mother had her hand over her mouth as she glanced over the people I had spent my childhood with. “I was right, Mom,” I whispered. “Jason?” She whispered the name of the man who was trying to get away. “Yes?” He turned around slowly to look at my mother. “Oh my god,” she whispered, “Jason Meyers.” I looked at my mother at the use of our last name. Jason lowered his head. “Mom?” “You have been spending time with the spirit of your father, and I took that away,” her hand went over her heart, “oh, I am so sorry dear.” “Wait, Mom I didn’t even know,” I stuttered. “I needed to protect you from the things you weren’t ready to know,” he ushered us out, “now come back tomorrow, it’s getting late.” “We have to take your boyfriend to meet them tomorrow,” my mother spoke, causing Jason to look up, his eyes suddenly glowing green and his hair slowly turning white. “Okay,” Jack clapped his hands, his smile gone, “I think it’s time for bed.”

[hetacon]

Prom Queen: Chapter 1

Previous || Next

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Word Count: 1,500

Pairings: Endgame Prinxiety, Eventual Platonic LAMP, more could be included at a later point

Warning: The teeniest bit of swearing, slight food mention, Remus is mentioned briefly

______________________________ 

Summary: “Oh shut up,” he grumbled to it as he turned off the alarm before checking the date and sighing lowly.

It was exactly the day he had been thinking. The first day of school.

(Don’t miss the notes I have at the end of this post if you’d like to hear some additional details! There is a prologue to this story by the way, be sure to check it out!)

______________________________

The alarm blared loudly from across Virgil’s room. He tried hard to the best of his abilities to ignore it but he did make it loud for a reason.

One of those reasons being that he knew himself well enough to know that he would ignore it if he could and shut it off and go back to bed if he couldn’t. Going across the room to get it had always proved to have a higher chance of success in his experience so he had gone for that option last night.

The second reason though was because of today. Virgil shot up upon remembering and went over to his phone charging across his room, squinting at the screen.

“Oh shut up,” he grumbled to it as he turned off the alarm before checking the date and sighing lowly.

It was exactly the day he had been thinking. The first day of school.

The first day of high school in fact, the event of the decade that he and Roman had been waiting for in anticipation. Well, that was being generous but either way, they were both anticipating it for different reasons as they always seemed to do.

Virgil was not thrilled at the prospect of a new school. He would be required to learn a new campus, new classrooms, new classmates, and new teachers. Within the first week, he knew he’d be accustomed to at least the rooms for his classes but the other ones could take some getting used to. He knew that either way, he wasn’t going to get along with a majority of his classmates and he’d be too nervous to get to know any teachers or do much more than answer the occasional question or take role until they’d learned their students’ names. The campus was another issue too. Where would he be waiting in the morning? Where would he eat lunch? Did he and Roman even have the same brunch schedule? How was he getting home again? What time did his day end?

After shooting a text to Roman about one of those questions, namely in terms of the schedule, he got ready. After pulling his hoodie on over his head, he brushed a hand through his bangs to push them back before frowning at his reflection, letting them fall over his face again. He didn’t look better per say but he could see less which was always a plus in situations he was dreading. His mom had come in at some point to make sure he had actually gotten up and he was out of the house with his backpack and phone as soon as Roman bounded up his driveway.

“Virgil, it’s finally happening!” his best friend squealed, linking their arms as Virgil was tugged along down the route to their new school. “Finally, we’re high schoolers now, can you believe it?”

Virgil snorted, feeling a weight lift off his chest. One of them at least. “Can I believe it? Yeah. Do I want to? Hell no,” he muttered out with an edge of grumpiness to his voice only to have Roman laugh.

“I promise that I’ll be with you as much as I can the whole day! We’re going to have brunch and lunch together too and then I’ll take you over to my place after school!” Roman explained. He honestly made it sound so simple but really, he usually did. It even usually was, at least when Roman told him so. He just always knew how to make awful situations... easier.

“Eh, I guess I’ll take it. Though I’ve gotten a horrible end of the deal for compensation,” Virgil jeered a little, laughing to himself as Roman gasped and shoved him with an obvious smile.

“Shut up, you love me and you know it!”

Virgil’s smile came easily as they kept walking. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say,” he snorted.

Roman talked about theater, asking what productions Virgil thought they should put on, how he hoped to get some good roles this year, and then listed off some of his personal favorite musicals that he hoped he’d get to do at some point. Virgil filled in the gaps and spaces of the conversations and Roman did the rest. It was comfortable, it didn’t seem like this year would feel so bad now with things going just as they always had.

The day started off pretty alright honestly, much better than Virgil would’ve expected. Luckily he’d done a walkthrough of his schedule during registration so he knew vaguely where to go and he made it to his second period class early.

A lot of them were standard class introductions, icebreakers, and syllabuses. It seemed like exactly what he was used to in junior high, just at a different school. Some of his classes seemed pretty boring but he knew he didn’t have much of an option on the basic ones he had to take. He texted Roman between classes to see how he was fairing. He wasn’t very surprised that it was going off without a hitch.

It was a relief by the time that Virgil got to his English class right before lunch, the one class he and Roman shared together. Roman rushed in right as the bell rang and collapsed into the seat next to him, breathing out with a smile.

“Cutting it close, huh?” Virgil whispered.

“Sorry, I was a bit preoccupied,” Roman merely offered as explanation before the teacher got up and started talking, cutting their conversation short.

“Man, I am so excited for theater today! I can already tell it’s going to be so amazing!” Roman chattered excitedly as they walked out of English, making their way over to one of the more secluded areas of the campus Virgil had been able to find, setting up to eat lunch.

“Yeah, totally didn’t see that coming,” Virgil said with a slight shake of his head, smirking a bit. “It’s not like you’ve been talking about it all day. Oh wait! You have.”

“Alright alright so I will admit that I might be a little more excited than one would expect!” Roman relented, shrugging. “But! It’s just so amazing, I got into 7th period theater, Virge! I’m going to be in the actual productions!! That’s a big deal for a freshman, usually people don’t make it until maybe sophomore year, you know?”

“Well the director would’ve been an idiot if he didn’t want to put you in them, yeah? I think so anyways,” Virgil said as he took out his sketchbook.

“I suppose but still, I’m just...” Roman laughed to himself, bouncing in place. “I’m so excited, I can’t wait to meet all the new people there,” he giggled.

Virgil nodded, starting a sketch of Roman which Roman immediately posed for, knowing the drill.

“Soooo, have you met anyone interesting today?” Roman asked as Virgil was working out the shape of Roman’s nose, their eyes making contact for a second before Virgil was back to sketching.

“Nah, not really. Though somebody just kinda... Gave me a cookie during art. He said I looked like I needed it. He’s my table partner now so there’s that, you know?” Virgil said with a shrug. “He’s pretty cool I guess. Liked one of my drawings of you.”

“And you didn’t strike up a conversation? C’mon Virgil, you could be set on baked goods and a person with great taste for the rest of your life!” Roman exclaimed, shifting out of position as he threw his arms out to which Virgil gave a half-hearted glare.

“You’re dumber than I gave you credit for if you believe I can talk to people.”

“Well I may be dumb but I take it with pride like a Prince should!”

“Your brother is the smarter of the two of you,” Virgil mused.

Roman pouted. “He is not!”

“Pretty sure he is,” Virgil hummed out.

As the two conversed a little more, Virgil didn’t feel up to eating anything.

Lunch ended and the day finished up with Virgil waiting outside the auditorium for Roman to be done with theater. The two walked home with Roman going on and on about the rest of his day, telling him about all the people he had met and all the things that he had gotten up to. Apparently there was already some idea of what the fall play would be so Roman talked about it at length.

“But seriously Virgil, it was so nice of them! Two of the juniors gave me a card to welcome me, it had my name on it and everything, I can’t wait!”

Virgil merely nodded as Roman continued.

Virgil didn’t have much to say at that point, just letting Roman keep going. Virgil just listened on, focusing silently on his best friend as they made their way home.

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A/N: Hey hey hey guys, here is the first official chapter of Prom Queen! I don’t have an especially strict schedule for this story but I do try to post every other day and it works out fairly well! I’ll try not to make it be more than a couple weeks between chapters but life might get funky so if anything happens, I’ll try my best to handle it and get more chapters out!

That being said, I hope you are enjoying the story and are excited for future chapters! Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglists, either this one or my writing/art taglists in general and I’ll catch you guys next time!

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Taglist: @spookijam, @its-the-cat-queen, @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog, @tssidesfamily, @shapa-likes-art, @isabelle-stars

[iliumheightnights]

We Have A Jedi [13] | Peter Parker x Male Reader

Fandom: Star Wars and Marvel

Pairing: Peter Parker x Male Reader, Tony Stark x Son!Reader

Summary: Being on Earth was just what (M/N) needed, but the war is still raging and it seems to be getting worse. With the same vision plaquing him, he’s wondering what lay on the horizon.

Read From The Start

…

It had been a week since their arrival to Earth. In that time Sheyo’s leg had fully healed and she was back in the action. The two had trained with each other in both force techniques and lightsaber combat. It was a nice change of pace. The two of them had been able to spend time with the avengers and (M/N) got to spend lots of time with his father, which he was grateful for.

As said before, Thor did eventually return from Asgard. He broke into the biggest smile when he saw (M/N) had returned. He had asked when he had been and (M/N) gave him the same run down as before. Unlike the others, Thor was not surprised that Sheyo was a Mirialan in the slightest, instead asking her if she Mirial had been alright during the war. After a brief chat (M/N) pulled him into his room. “Is everything alright young Stark?” (M/N) sighed. “I need you to do something for me. I need you to take something back to Asgard with you.” By the look on his face Thor seemed intrigued by the idea. “What do you need me to take back?” (M/N) went to where he hid the stones and pulled out the space stone. “This.” Thor eyed him and the stone. “This is-” “An infinity stone yes. One of two that I have. The longer I have them the more of a target they become. I need you to take this one back to asgard and keep it safe. I’ll leave the other one here with the rest of the avengers. They’ll keep it safe.” Thor seemed to be thinking of something, maybe about how (M/N) had ended up with two stones. “Aye. I’ll do it. Wait- is the other stone you have the one from last time?” (M/N) nodded. “I didn’t trust the council or the republic to keep it safe. Neither did my mother. We thought they’d use it for their own efforts, just like the sith.” Thor nodded. “Well you’ve done well keeping it safe so far. It was probably a good decision. Not to worry, I shall take this stone with me back to Asgard and keep it safe within our vault.” That was all the confirmation (M/N) needed, he knew Thor would keep it safe.

…

There was a city, not like new york. More like coruscant, only cleaner and not as large. It seemed to be domed too. There were the sounds of gunfire and shouting. A battle. He could hear lightsabers clashing. Once again a flash of purple and gold. “You should have gone for the head.” Then the fighting seemed to be dying down and the air became littered with ash. The screaming had turned to cries. This wasn’t a nightmare, it was a warning.

(M/N) shot up from his bed. His breath was rapid and his heart was beating fast. Sweat could be felt all over his face. What did that mean? He had that dream ever since before he even came to Earth the first time. “Mr.(M/N). You’re heart rate is increasing rapidly. Shall I inform your father?” (M/N) had never heard the A.I so...so worried before. It was almost comforting in a way. “No. Thank you Jarvis. I’m just...just going to go for some air.” He got out of bed and put on some clothes and a jacket before leaving the tower. He just needed to keep his mind distracted for a bit. He didn’t even know what time it was, it had to be early in the morning. Even then the city was still somewhat awake. 

He had been walking for a bit, he didn’t know how far he had gone. Too far into his mind and what the dreams meant he didn’t even notice when someone walked up to him. “Give me all your money and you won’t get hurt.” That brought his attention back. “Huh? Oh, you’re trying to rob me.” The person in front of him wore a mask and had a knife out to him. “Give me your money!” (M/N) sighed and brought his hand up, waving it at the man. “You don’t want to rob me. You want to go home and rethink your life.” The man stiffened up and dropped his knife. “I don’t want to rob you. I want to go home and rethink my life.” That was all it took, the man turned and walked off. “Cool. I wonder if he sells death sticks too.” (M/N) smirked at the voice and turned to greet his friend. “Earth has death sticks?” The eyes of the spiderman mask widened. “Oh! Um no, just part of the movie.” (M/N) nodded. “Ah yes. Star Wars.”

(M/N) turned and began walking again, he heard Peter land and felt the boy walking beside him. “So...what are you doing out here so late? Early? I don’t even know what time it is anymore.” (M/N) hummed. “I’m not sure either honestly. I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares. Decided I needed some air, now here we are.” Peter Nodded. “Here we are. Here.” Peter held out his hand to (M/N) who looked at him questionably before grabbing on. Peter then shot out a web and brought him onto the roof of a building. “This way we can sit down and have some privacy.” (M/N) smirked and sat beside Peter on the edge of the roof, Peter removing his mask to reveal messy hair. “It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of heights, Spidey.” Peter blushed and covered his mouth. “I should have asked. I am so sorry.” But the other boy only waved him off. “You’re good. I’ve jumped out of ships in the air too many times to count.” Peter looked curious but wanted to hear. “Yeah?” That’s how (M/N) ended up talking with Peter about his adventures out in the galaxy. The boy never once seemed to be uninterested, instead gave all his focus on him.

Soon the sun was starting to rise over the city. “I should probably be getting back. Don’t want anyone to be worried.” (M/N) stood up, Peter doing the same. “I can take you back. You’ll get there a lot quicker, plus you won’t get stopped by other thugs.” (M/N) smiled and nodded. “I’d like that. If you wouldn’t mind of course.” Peter shook his head and held onto him. “I wouldn’t have offered if I did mind.” Then he started swinging back to the tower. (M/N) was smiling the whole time, he had travelled many different times before, but never like this. It wasn’t long before the two landed on the deck of the tower. “Thanks for the lift. Get home safely.” Peter, now with his mask on, laughed. “I will. Not looking forward to school though. See ya around (M/N)!” with that Peter went swinging away.

When (M/N) entered the tower he discovered no one was up yet. “(M/N) you’re back. I was worried something might have happened.” Jarvis spoke. “Thanks Jarvis. Was talking with a friend.” (M/N) was about to head back to his room when Jarvis spoke up again. “Your father is currently in the lab if you want to talk with him.” (M/N) smirke and headed to the elevator. “Thanks J.” Arriving in his father’s lab he heard the music blaring already. He had been in the lab a couple other times, mostly helping his dad with some projects but otherwise he didn’t really come in here. Tony was currently working over a workbench. “Morning dad. Let me guess, haven’t slept yet.” Tony looked up from his spot and smiled. “No, I got a solid five hours.” (M/N) shook his head and rolled his eyes. He looked over the table. “You need more sleep. What are you working on?” Tony just went back to work. “Some upgrades to the suit, maybe even plans for a new suit. Working on nanotechnology.” Tony pulled up the idea sketches and data, (M/N) looked it over impressed with his dad’s work. “Impressive. Think you’ll be able to get it done soon?” (M/N) didn’t ask if it would be possible, because through his dad anything is possible. “I hope so. I think I can at least get parts of a watch to form a glove in a couple months.” (M/N) nodded and sat down next to him, he figured it was a time to ask. “So...what’s going on between you and Steve?” That made his dad stop for a bit but continued on with his work. “What do you mean? Me and capsicale are doing just fine.” (M/N) hummed. “Oh I know you are, maybe TOO fine. Don’t play coy with me. I see how you look at him every now and then.” Tony continued to work but huffed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I look at him like I do any other member of the team.” (M/N) nodded when the door opened and the man of the hour walked in. “Tony. (M/N).” Steve nodded to them both. (M/N) stood up and patted his father’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go see if Sheyo’s up. Have fun you two...but not too much fun.” He smirked at Steve who looked confused before walking out. “What was that about?” Steve asked Tony who was looking anywhere but Steve. “I have no idea. Teenage angst.”

(M/N) walked to the guest room and knocked on the door. It didn’t take long for Sheyo to answer the door and let him in. “Morning.” She smirked at him. “We need to talk. Now that my leg is better, we need to start thinking of finding a way back to Tython. Or at least to a station.” (M/N) nodded. “I agree. As much as I want to stay...I had another vision last night. The same one I’ve had for the last two years...I think it’s coming sooner than we think.” Sheyo seemed troubled by that. “That’s not good. Not at all. We need to find out what your vision means and stop it. Perhaps Master Yoda will know.

Before the conversation could continue, the alarm began to ring out. “What’s that? Are we under attack?” Sheyo asked, preparing to fight. “No. That’s just the alarm letting the avengers know to suit up. Looks like they’re needed somewhere. Good. When they’re gone we can ask fury about getting a-” Jarvis spoke up. “Excuse me Mr.(M/N), your father has requested you and Miss Wune to suit up. You two will be going with them on the mission.” (M/N) was surprised to hear that. He figured his dad wouldn’t want him along. “Alright we’re on our way. When we’re back. Come on Sheyo, let’s go see what’s going on.” (M/N) quickly ran to his room and changed back into his jedi tunic and grabbed his lightsabers. He and Sheyo made it to the quinjet which the avengers were boarding.

It wasn’t long before the jet was in the air and the briefing began. “Alright. We have reports that remnants of Hydra have taken over a shield base in colorado. They’ve put up a good fight of keeping it too.” Sheyo looked over the holotable. “What’s the strategic importance of this base sir? Why would they take it?” Steve looked troubled. “That’s the thing, this base didn’t have anything of importance. It was just a look out base, a couple artifacts are there but nothing that we’ve discovered to be important or dangerous. We’re worried we might be wrong about that. We’re not sure exactly sure why they took it...especially with how reckless they’ve been about it.” (M/N) felt a little nagging feeling in his mind. “I have a bad feeling about this. Do you feel that Sheyo?” She nodded. “Yes. I feel there is something more here than any of us know. We should be cautious with how we proceed.” The avengers nodded at that, worried about what that could mean. Tony seemed to stand a bit closer to (M/N). Steve continued the briefing and they continued their flight to the base. “Ready to get back into the fight?” (M/N) asked his friend. “You know it. You know I hate sitting around when there’s people to help save and criminals to stop.” The two laughed as someone approached from behind them. “You two seem chipper for going into battle.” (M/N) smirked at the archer. “This is an everyday occurrence Clint. We’re used to it by now.” The man frowned at that. “I don’t like that you’re used to it. You shouldn’t be used to it.” Sheyo smiled at him. “We don’t like it either. But that’s just how the universe works sometimes.”

It wasn’t long before the quinjet landed and everyone got into position. “Alright everyone, you know what to do. Keep on comms and stay safe. Especially you two.” Steve looked at (M/N) and Sheyo who only grinned at him and saluted. “Yes sir!” They said in unison. “Smart asses.” (M/N) heard his dad mutter. The doors opened and everyone went into their objectives. (M/N) and Sheyo were of course teamed up together and they were tasked with taking out the outer defenses and watch towers. It was relatively easy for them to finish seeing as both have taken part of sieges. Both however did do their best to not kill anyone, only to disarm them and knock them out.

“(M/N), Sheyo, Hydra is starting to retreat. We’re following the bulk of their forces. Can you two take the few stragglers from the main facility?” Steve said through the comms. “Absolutely! We’ll take care of them!” (M/N) said back. He and Sheyo made it back to the main facility and took care of the few stragglers that had remained. “Well...that was a blue milk run.” (M/N) joked. “Another day's work for the galaxy's best duo.” Sheyo high fived him. The two returned to the outside of the facility. As they stepped outside the sound of a lightsaber igniting was heard and a chill ran up (M/N)’s spine. He was quick to ignite his and block as a red blade came down almost hitting sheyo.

“Well, well. When my master said you would be here I thought he was letting his anger and pain confuse him. Guess he was right after all.” Another sith. This time however it was a twi'lek girl with red skin and black tattoos over her body and face. Sheyo came in with her lightsaber but was blocked as the sith ignited another lightsaber...this one however had a pure black blade with a white silverish outline. “My my...two in one? My lucky day!” (M/N) brought up his other lightsaber for a swing but the sith only jumped out of the way. “I’m guessing you’re the reason Hydra’s here?” She gave out a laugh before bringing her hands up and shooting out lightning which the two jedi blocked. “WHO ARE YOU!?” (M/N) yelled. “My master sends his regards! He wanted to kill you himself but he’s currently still licking his wounds!” It was then (M/N) knew, he had studied enough of his enemy in the jedi archives. She was Kren’s apprentice. “So...we finally meet...Talon!” The sith grinned widely. “I’m glad to see you’ve heard about me!”

The lightning was keeping it’s pace. Talon was strong, but she was too focused on the two jedi to notice as a missile launched at her. She stopped her lightning and jumped out of the way in time not to be directly hit. The sound of jet’s came into hearing range and blaster fire began being shot out. (M/N) thought that it was his father coming to the rescue, he was surprised when a mandalorian landed next to him still firing at the sith. “Well what are you waiting for!? Finish her off!” The mando shouted. (M/N) shook off his confusion and moved to attack again but watched as Talon jumped off the railing. The sound of engines got louder as Talon rose into view. She was standing on a small fighter. “Thank you for the fight! Sadly I must leave now for I have what I need. Not to worry I’ll be back!” The mandalorian shot off a rocket at her which she pushed back with the force. “Duck!” (M/N) pushed the mandalorian down while Sheyo dropped to the ground. The rocket hit into a wall the opposite side and Talon escaped in her ship.

(M/N) groaned as he looked up into the visor of the mandalorians helmet. “You mind? You’re kind of crushing me.” (M/N) quickly stood up and helped the man up. “Oh sorry.” Sheyo got up and came over to them. “You alright?” (M/N) nodded and turned back to the man. “Thanks for the help. Who are you? What’s a mandalorian doing here on Earth?” The man rose his hand. “Name’s Ven. Ven Myjal of Clan Zost. I was looking for an important heirloom, sadly she got here first.” (M/N)’s mind clicked with recognition. “That lightsaber. The one with the black blade.” Ven nodded. “It’s called the darksaber. The person who holds it leads the mandalorians. I was trying to find it before they found it, I fear they plan to use it to conquer Mandalore.” Sheyo snorted. “The sith will conquer all of their ‘allies’.” Even with a helmet on, (M/N) could tell Ven was glaring. “We want nothing to do with your war. The mandalorians that have sided with the empire are all seperatist!” Sheyo backed off but the air was tense. “So what are you going to do now?” Ven shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can’t really follow her all the way back to Dromund Kaas or Korriban. I’ll probably just return to Mandalore and prepare for whatever comes next. No matter what happens, my clan won’t listen to the empire.” (M/N) nodded. “Can I ask a favor? Can you drop my friend and I off at a republic station or planet? We’re stuck here and need to get back to warn them of events that happened before we got stuck.” The man sighed and shook his head. “I have a ship not far from here. I’ll take you as far as Alderaan but then I’ll have to head back to Mandalore.” (M/N) smirked. “That’s all we need. Thank you. I have to quickly wrap up some business but Sheyo will go with you for now. Sheyo go with Ven and I’ll go back with the avengers and finish up our business. Lead Ven and pick me up. It’s time to go.” Sheyo nodded and followed Ven to his ship.

(M/N) arrived back at the quinjet the same time the avengers were. “(M/N)! Where’s Sheyo?” Steve asked. The others looking worried, (M/N) rose his hands. “She’s fine. She’s with someone who’s going to help us get off world.” That caught the attention of everyone, his father pushed his way forward. “Off world? You’re leaving again?” (M/N) hated seeing his father look down, but he needed to go. “Yes. I’ll tell you more on the way back to the tower. I need you all to do something for me.” He didn’t wait for a response and boarded the jet. On the way back to the tower he told them everything. Talon. Ven. The darksaber.  And finally- “Remember the last time I was here? I had the infinity stone that we were going to give to the jedi council...well I still have it. I need you to hold onto it and keep it safe. I can’t trust it with anyone else.” He pleaded with the avengers but he really didn’t need to. They had all already made their decision to keep it safe. Arriving back at the tower they exited the jet and (M/N) quickly went to his room to grab the stone. However when he went to where he hid the stone he found it missing. “What...Jarvis! Did someone enter my room when we were gone?” Jarvis was silent for a while. “I’m sorry sir. It seems like part of my security feed was erased. This is...alarming.” (M/N) felt his heart race quickening, someone came and stole the stone. He raced out of his room to his father and the rest. “It’s gone! Someone took the stone.” This alarmed them all. “What? Jarvis do you have the security recording?” The ai repeated that it had been erased. “This isn’t good, not at all.” Bruce said. The sound of engines got louder and they watched as a gauntlet class ship landed on the balcony. The ramp dropped and Sheyo walked out. Tony placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find it. But you need to go and do what you need to do.” He could see that there were tears building in his eyes but still held a smile. 

The avengers walked him out to the ship. Each of them said their goodbyes to him. Steve reached out his hand but (M/N) pulled him into a hug. “Bye Steve. See ya in a bit...take care of my dad.” Steve seemed to understand what he meant and nodded. Finally it was time to say goodbye to his dad. “Well...at least I get to say goodbye this time.” Tony laughed and shook his head. “Not goodbye, just see ya later.” (M/N) smirked and hugged his dad. “You know it. I’ll try and be as quick as I can. I have a bad feeling things are about to get a lot more difficult.” Tony rolled his eyes, still hugging him. “Well if it’s easy it’s no fun.” (M/N) groaned. “Says you! I like it when I don’t have to constantly be worried for my life...I love you dad.” Tony hugged him just a little bit tighter. “I love you more.” With that he let go and turned to the ship. “Oh! I almost forgot. Here!” He turned back around and gave dad his comlink. “This way we can keep in some sort of contact and it’s not just static for two years.” Tony huffed out a laugh and (M/N) gave one last goodbye to everyone before turning to the ship.

Sheyo smiled as he boarded the ship. “Ready to go?” He nodded. Ven was at the controls and Sheyo sat in the co-pilot's seat, (M/N) sitting behind Ven. “About time. Let’s leave this place.” The engines roared and the ship began flying away. It was only then watching the city getting smaller did (M/N) realize he didn’t get to say goodbye to Peter. He’d have to apologize next time he came...hopefully both survived long enough. “Next stop, Alderaan.”

[path-of-my-childhood]

Aaron Dessner Talks Taylor Swift’s New Album folklore

By: Sam Sodomsky for Pitchfork Date: July 24th 2020

Like millions of people across the world, Taylor Swift spent the past few months in isolation, stuck at home, changing plans, reflecting on the past, and imagining new connections. One of those new connections was with Aaron Dessner, the multi-instrumentalist and producer from the National.

On release day, he called us from his home in the Hudson Valley to speak about their entirely virtual but highly collaborative process, sounding just as surprised as anyone. “Nobody needs to tell Taylor Swift how to write a song - and I certainly didn’t,” he says with a laugh. “But it did feel like we were going toe-to-toe pushing each other.”

What is your personal relationship with Taylor Swift’s music? I’ve always admired her craftsmanship and talent. But 1989 was the first one I was really listening to as a fan. My brother [Bryce Dessner, guitarist in the National] and I were in Iceland with [performance artist] Ragnar Kjartansson, and he’s a total Swiftie. It was the summer of 1989, and we’d be hanging out listening to it loud. Ragnar is an art historian, so he was just contextualizing every moment. It was a lot of fun. That’s when we became bigger fans.

When did you actually meet her for the first time? We met her at Saturday Night Live in 2014 when Lena Dunham was hosting. And then she came to see us play last summer in Prospect Park during this crazy torrential downpour. She was there with Antoni [Porowski] from Queer Eye. She talked a lot with my brother and me. That’s when we realized how much of a fan she was, and how lovely and down to earth. I don’t know that many people who have that sort of success, so it’s a nice feeling to realize they’re cool. That left a good impression.

She got in touch again at the end of April. I got a text and it said, “Hey it’s Taylor. Would you ever be up for writing songs with me?” I said, “Wow. Of course.” It was a product of this time. Everything we had planned got cancelled. Everything she had planned got cancelled. It was a time when the ideas in the back of your head came to the front. That’s how it started.

You ended up with a credit on 11 of the 16 songs. How did the collaboration get going? At the very beginning of March, Justin Vernon and I had gone to Texas to work on the new Big Red Machine album. I had been living with my family in France as COVID was starting to spiral out of control in Europe. I said to my wife that maybe they should come back to the States with me because I was worried about getting separated. So we got tickets, and my kids and wife flew to [the family’s home in] Upstate New York and I flew to Texas. I was there for a week, and by the time I got back Upstate, the borders were being shut and we got stuck. I have the Long Pond studio here, so in a way it was lucky.

I hunkered down here and started to write a ton of music - more than I ever have. I thought maybe they were National or Big Red Machine ideas or maybe something totally different. Things were happening.

So when [Taylor] reached out, I had this large folder of ideas that were pretty well on their way. She was very clear that she didn’t want me to edit any of my ideas; she wanted to hear everything that was interesting to me at this moment, including really odd, experimental noise. So I made a folder of stuff, including some pretty out-there sketches. A few hours later, she sent “Cardigan,” fully written in a voice memo. That’s when I realized that this was unusual—just the focus and clarity of her ideas. It was pretty astonishing. Over the next couple months, this would just happen; all of a sudden, I’d get a voice memo. And then another. Eventually, it was so inspiring that I wrote more ideas that were specifically in response to what she was writing.

When did it occur to you that an album was forming? There were moments when we started to reflect on what we were doing. The first three songs we wrote were “Cardigan,” “Seven,” and “Peace.” “Cardigan” is probably the closest to a pop song on the record—it’s this epic narrative. And then “Seven” was this nostalgic, wistful, emotional folk song. And then when she wrote “Peace,” I realized she can do anything! She is so versatile. It’s just a harmonized bassline with a pulse and a drone, and she basically wrote a Joni Mitchell love song to it. She only did one vocal take, and that’s what’s on the record.

Were you communicating through the whole process? Yeah. We were pretty much in touch daily for three or four months by text and phone calls. Some of it was about production and restructuring things but a lot of it was just excitement. We both felt that this was some of the best work we have done. That was a strange and surreal thing to have happen, especially at this time.

At one point I was randomly doxxed by right-wing conspiracy theorists who misidentified me as an Antifa organizer in Ohio, long story, but it was in the middle of all this work. I didn’t want to stress her out so I didn’t tell her. But at some point she laughed and said, “So you’re a notorious anarchist?” And I’m like, “Yeah, I was gonna mention that."

How did the collaboration with Bon Iver on “Exile” come about? Taylor wrote that one with the singer-songwriter William Bowery. When Taylor sent it to me as a voice memo, she sang both the male and female parts - as much as she could fit in without losing her breath. We talked about who she was imagining joining her, and she loves Justin [Vernon]’s voice in Bon Iver and Big Red Machine. She was like, “Oh my god, I would die if he would do it. It would be so perfect.” I didn’t want to put pressure on Justin as his friend, so I said, “Well, it depends on if he’s inspired by the song but I know he thinks you’re rad.” Which he does.

So I sent him the song and he was really into it. He tweaked some parts and added parts as well - the bridge where he says, “Step right out.” The end too, and his choral parts. It was fun because Justin and I work on a lot of stuff together, so it was very easy and natural. At some point I felt like a superfan, hearing two of my favorite singers. This was all being done remotely, but it was one of those moments where your head hits the back of the wall and you’re like, “Fuck. Okay.”

There is some fan debate over William Bowery’s identity - I’m not familiar with him. I’m not either. I haven’t actually met him because of social distancing, which is kind of funny. I think he’s a friend.

Did you feel the pressure of working with an artist at Taylor Swift’s level? I tried hard not to think about the scope or scale of making a record that would be heard by millions and millions of people. I did a pretty good job of tuning that out. Music for me is an emotional necessity. It’s therapy. It’s what I live and breathe. All these songs are things I was working on already, and we both felt there was some serendipity in the fact that we ended up in this situation together. I just stayed focused on that, on making this as good as we can.

As the release got closer, I almost thought it wouldn’t happen. Or maybe I just told myself that! The National guys will tell you the same thing - I tend to work until the last possible minute. I didn’t really have a moment to be like, “Holy shit! People are gonna hear this.” We were joking about it last night. I said, “So this actually happened?” And she goes, “Yep!”

What was it like working under total secrecy? There was no outside influence at all. In fact, nobody knew, including her label, until hours before it was launched. For someone who’s been in this glaring spotlight for 15 years, it’s really liberating to have some privacy and work on her own terms. She deserves that. At times, if I wanted friends to play on the record, it was a little difficult because you can’t send a file with her vocals. But everyone was cool. At the end, I reached out to some wizards just to add bits, and that was nice. It was kind of fun: “What? Why can’t you tell me, Aaron?” Then they start guessing. Everyone made a game out of it.

Is there any music that was left on the cutting room floor? There are things I feel could still be songs. It does feel like an ongoing collaboration. Now Taylor is starting to help with other things. We’re bouncing other ideas off each other, whether it’s Big Red Machine or other things. There’s a community aspect. I think that’s how music should be.

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Virgil Anker: better together

Virgil learns to accept help from others.

“Ugh! I am done!” Virgil glanced up from his assignment to see Roman let himself fall back into his chair with relief. Their first study session had gone rather well. They should probably reserve one of the discussion booths next time. The poor librarian had needed to remind them to be quiet multiple times. They’d just had too much fun. But Virgil could understand Roman’s exhaustion. It was time they wrapped things up. “Give me a sec, I have to finish this thing for English,” he muttered absentmindedly as he focused once more.

“Want me to read it trough for you?”

Virgil looked up in surprise. “You don’t…” he started. He didn’t even know why he was feeling like he’d done something wrong right now. Picani might be able to help him figure it out during their session after Virgil got back from his trip to the zoo with uncle Thomas tomorrow.

“We’re here to help each other Virgil. If I didn’t want to help you I wouldn’t offer. I thrive on being of help to my friends. It’s no trouble.” Right. Roman was like that. For everyone, not just him. It was okay to let him help. Virgil found himself smiling a little sheepishly and nodded. “Alright. You can read it when I’m done,” he allowed quickly turning back to his work.

When he finished his essay he looked up to find Roman in the zone. Which was excellent. It made it easier to sneak up on him. Apparently those with ADHD were extra susceptible to his cloak. Did he have proof for that? Well it was more of a hypothesis, but he had no means to test it. It made sense though.

And Roman had yet to prove him wrong.

Virgil cloaked himself, moved to stand right next to Roman and looked over his shoulder. It looked like he was designing a fashion line. Trans girl dresses, Pansexual messenger bags… as well as formal clothing inspired by broadway and Disney characters it seemed. He dropped his cloak.

“Seems I’m not the only one who can draw up some clothes.” Virgil had to stifle his laughter when that observation nearly made Roman jump 4 feet in the air.

“Will you stop that!?” he hissed.

“Not a chance,” Virgil chuckled as he picked up Roman’s sketches.

“This looks good though… You ever thought of becoming a fashion designer?” he suggested casually, allowing himself to imagine starting a brand with Roman someday.

“You are a genius!” Roman exclaimed, making Virgil’s heart jump.

He played it cool though. He’d gotten good at that over the last two years. Pretending that Roman’s smile didn’t turn his insides upside down. “It’s the least I can do. I sent in the designs like you said… I’m kind of excited.” He was. He hoped to catch a glimpse when he went out tonight.

“I’m sure next time you see DreamPrince on the news he’ll be wearing your design.” It was nice, having someone believe in him like that. Other than his dads that is.

“We’ll see,” he smiled as he handed Roman his laptop.

“Well,” Roman announced after a while. “I think you can hand this in with confidence Virge.”

Virgil felt himself relax at that. Roman wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it.

“So… I recall something about pizza? I’m starving!”

Virgil chuckled and lead the hungry Hispanic to the restaurant he’d suggested.

Virgil reminded himself over and over that this wasn’t a date, but it was very hard. Especially when, near the end of their meal Roman suddenly started acting nervous. “So… Um… There’s this… Shoot wait a minute,” Roman got up and picked up his phone.

“Si mama…? Que?” Virgil watched Roman look at his watch and jump.

“Perdona! I’ll be there soon.” With that he hung up and took out his wallet. Rambling all the way.

“So sorry Virge! Time got away from us I’m afraid. I swear I intended to give you that ride… Can you call your dad… You know what? Just use the change to take the bus or a cab or something alright? My treat! I’ll call you later!” he promised as he tossed down a few bills before rushing away. Leaving Virgil behind a little stunned. Maybe it was a family thing? It looked urgent.

He took the bus as it was cheaper and there was a stop in his new street.

The house was nice. Though Virgil wasn’t used to it yet. Especially now, when his dads weren’t home, it felt weird being here. Luckily he didn’t plan on staying too long.

He texted his dad while getting dressed. By the time he left the house, he got a reply.

“Don’t wait up. Patton and Thomas say hi. Thomas wants to remind you of the trip to the zoo tomorrow.” Virgil smiled, he didn’t know uncle Thomas was going to be there too… Maybe these projects were just poker nights with the boys. He might have to ask them about it when they got home.

Regardless, duty called.

Virgil was starting to think that he might need to do take a break from turning in evidence for a bit. The criminals were getting agitated.

“I say we attack now! They are weak! We can take them down easily!” he heard one guy suggest. No, turf wars were a bad idea. Clearly he hadn’t thought about maintaining the power balance enough. Good thing he was about to even the playing field again. All these idiots had to do was get caught on his camera with something very illegal, preferably saying the bosses name or any clue the police could use for some kind of big bust.

The leader of this troupe seemed rather well respected. Virgil had learned to spot the difference between the ranks, and if this guy wasn’t answering to the big guy himself, then he was pretty close.

“Boss says we have a truce until the rat is found,” The big dude in question stated.

A truce? Was he that much of a threat? Should he feel flattered or scared?

The tugs argued back and forth a bit more and Virgil was seriously considering just getting out of here. Maybe he could trip up some lower tier members. Or go back to helping lost travelers for a while. Just enough to make the higher ups relax again. They wouldn’t rebuild their ranks too much if they thought it was an inside job or something. Right?

And if they’d realized someone was giving the cops everything they needed to stop them, they wouldn’t plan anything major for a while. Unless the boss was stupid.

Suddenly Virgil saw a figure descend from the roof. He made a hero landing, straight from a superhero movie.

Virgil’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be…

“Do you gentlemen have permits for those weapons?” Dream Prince asked with a deep, booming voice as he rose up, wearing the full costume Virgil had designed. Including the cape. What was he doing here? Stupid question. He was government sanctioned. The chief was on the news a few days ago claiming him as one of theirs.

Which meant she probably asked him to look for Virgil. Does that woman never give up?

The gang was confused by his appearance. One of them calling the young hero ‘prince clown’. Virgil was too far away to see it, but he was willing to bet the clown in question was not too pleased with that.

With a gesture from the leader the gang was silenced. “Sure kid,” he said in a voice that made Virgil stand on high alert. “Got mine right here.”

Or find the stories of Logan and Roman in the Master post

Before Virgil could react in any meaningful way, Prince had shielded himself with his cape and the leader fired at least four rounds at him. The hero was unharmed though. The sounds of bullets falling to the ground the only evidence that they had ever left the barrel in the first place.

“Well now you just pissed me off. This is brand new!” Prince complained as he dropped the cape. And Virgil had to admit, it looked very cool. “I suppose you won't surrender peacefully?” he deduced.

The sound of guns being armed was his only answer. Which was stupid. That was already shown not to work. But sure, shoot with more guns. Don’t actually use your brain or anything. Prince let out an annoyed sigh as he hung his cape from a water pipe. “Fine.” And just like that, he sped towards the criminals through a rain of bullets.

It seemed like he had it handled, and Virgil was pretty sure that he would notice he was there no matter how well he cloaked himself if he got involved. And if he was here to look for him and bring him in for whatever the chief had planned…

Still, he couldn’t make himself just stand by.

He jumped in and helped disarm the criminals and caught a few punches, Prince seemed unlikely to dodge. Pretty soon he felt like Prince was adapting his fighting to his presence which told him that he was in fact spotted.

Soon the gang was down on the ground and their disassembled guns were on a pile on the floor. Virgil returned to the shadows once the sirens lit up the alley.

Prince donned his cloak once more and walked up to where the leader laid, showing off his boot.

“So… how does it feel to get your butt kicked by a guy in heels?” Virgil’s eyes widened as he saw Prince show off the boot. He was wearing the heeled boots? Sure he pulled them off, but that wasn’t a smart move. He couldn’t have had that much time to practice with them yet. Virgil sent the design on Tuesday. Unless… Maybe he’d worn heels before? That was a possibility. Though crime fighting in heels couldn’t be comfortable… Still, it did make the whole thing extra cool, Virgil had to admit.

Suddenly Dream Prince looked up at him and gave a playful wink. So he had noticed him. And he could see him even though he was cloaked right now… Or not quite. He wasn’t looking directly at him. So he knew he was there, just not where exactly.

“Good job Dream Prince. We've got it from here,” one of the police officers who’d come to make the arrests told Prince. The young hero turned to him and bowed.

“It's my pleasure to be of assistance to the police of this fine city.” While he turned around he made a gesture with his hand. Virgil could tell he was being asked to follow.

Part of him wanted to run the other way. But he was curious.

He wanted to take a good look at the costume. He wanted to scold Prince. He wanted to give him a message for the chief. Maybe find out what she wanted from him.

So he followed him all the way to a rooftop.

The city lights illuminated Prince from the back, his cape floating in the wind.

Virgil wished he could take a picture. Roman would love this.

Prince took a step forward and bowed for him. He was really sticking to this Prince thing huh?

“Greetings Phantom. I must thank you for the assist now and three months ago. I am Dream Prince, he/him if you please. A pleasure to officially meet you.” So he had figured out when they’d met.

Virgil couldn’t help a chuckle. He was still cloaking himself. He’d never talked to someone like this before so he had no clue if and how that affected his voice.

“Phantom huh?” Hmm. He kind of liked it. Sure it confirmed that prince was here due to chief. But it was a cool nickname.

“Sure you can call me that. He/him… mind telling me what that was about? I thought you officials weren't let of your leash unless you could be responsible enough to not get yourself killed?” Did he sound a bit catty? Maybe. Was what Prince did idiotic? Absolutely.

Prince didn’t seem to agree. “Says the guy who has half the criminal underworld out for his blood.”

Virgil looked away. Damn. He’d hoped Prince was going to live up to Virgil’s original nickname for him. But he was no idiot.

“Do you have something against the program?” Prince pressed.

“No I…”  Virgil tried to steady himself. It wasn’t Prince’s fault that he was pissed at his boss. “Sorry I’m just pissed at the cops for sending you, I guess,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Yet you chose to follow me up here?” Okay, so he really should give this guy more credit.

“Um… Well… I just…” He couldn’t tell him he was curious about him. That would give away interest on his part and he was not ready to let anything personal slide. He hated being put on the spot like this. Damn, this was not helping the stoic, mysterious guy aura he was going for.

“You interrupted my stake out!” he recalled. Right, one of the reasons he was mad at Prince. The lecture he’d interrupted with his observations.

“Do you know how long it takes to work my way up the ranks? First I have to find a low level runner, then I follow him to his boss, that guy to his and so up the ladder I go. I was getting real close to the big guy of this group. And now…” Sure, he had been thinking about needing to go more low profile for a while to let the rumors simmer out. But still.

“I apologize,” Prince replied sincerely with another bow. It was hard to be mad with this guy. Perfect hero material. “I merely intended to help. They were talking about killing you.”

He appreciated the concern really. But he overlooked one crucial detail.

“And now there is a price on your head! The leader of that little club is like two steps away from the big boss. They won’t be happy with you taking him in.” He couldn’t let him get himself on the bad guys’ list. Not because he thought he needed to protect him. Or maybe a little. When had he started feeling responsible for Prince? Was this how his dad felt? Why he’d tried to keep him from being overly self-sacrificing as a kid?

“You got dirt on them?” Prince wondered.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Yes… But that’s not the point. They have no clue about me. Not really,” just some guesses and rumors. “But you are out in the open.” They’d know who to go after with him. “This is not your kind of mission Royal pain. And now that you are out, you can’t expect me to hold your hand any longer…” Virgil got distracted when Prince crossed his arm and smirked smugly. “You’ve been looking out for me all summer huh?”

That smug little… Fine he got him there.

He rolled his eyes with a scoff, trying to dismiss the statement. “It’s not like I came looking for you.” He just… Did the right thing when they met up.

Prince was the one dreaming if he thought he felt any kind of responsibility towards him. He was just trying to… To be someone he could be proud of. That was why he was doing this. To not feel week and useless. To help people, even if he couldn’t always help those he felt closest to.

“Still… Thank you…” Prince said gently, about to step forward again. But then he cringed and clutched his head. “Ow!”

The young hero sounded more annoyed than in pain.

He pressed a finger to his ear. Communicating with whoever was on the other line no doubt. “One. Loud. Two. Rude! I am in the middle of something! And did you seriously remotely reactivate my com?” Virgil could hear him hiss in the communication device, dropping the regal persona completely. Virgil bit back his amusement.

“I am fine, not a scratch on me,” Prince replied annoyed. “I’ll call you when I’m done here.” And then he seemed to take something out of his ear. He was so lucky Virgil wasn’t a bad guy or he’d just made it a lot easier on him to take him out.

“Sorry,” Prince sighed. “My mentor is… intense at times.”

“Mentor?” Virgil wondered. He’d heard about the GTA program and it’s monitors in the past. But mentors… that sounded a bit more one on one than just people who told you what to do.

“One of the people helping me practice my powers, test my limits. Comes with the program. It’s not just a babysit and a nice suit,” Prince joked.

“Oh…” Virgil didn’t know what to say to that. It was… Something he’d been wanting for a while now. For a way to test all that he could do. To figure out the shield, push the limits of his cloak and try and use his healing for others. Someone to help him strategize, to talk with when he’d had a tough night. But unless he was ready to come clean with his dad, that was out of his reach.

“Listen, I admit I was sent by the chief. But I didn’t come here to recruit you. I wanted to thank you and tell you… If you ever need someone to talk to, to help you figure something out… I’d be more than happy to oblige. No need to tell me your name or anything about yourself.”

Virgil looked at the offered hand. Maybe, it wasn’t impossible after all.

He considered his options. But it seemed like there was no catch to this offer. So he closed the gap and shook his hand.

“I’ll see you next time,” Prince offered kindly before letting go and running straight of the rooftop as if there was a walkway just for him.

Virgil smirked. Maybe he should wrap it up for tonight. Prince and the other heroes had the area covered. He’d collect the information he had on the tugs that were arrested tonight. Next time he saw Dream Prince, he’d hand that information to him.

If things went well… This could be a good partnership.

End of this part. Meet Janus and learn his side

@cirishere​ @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

[thiswasinevitableid]

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect. 

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him. 

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him. 

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed. 

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching. 

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head. 

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes. 

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket. 

------------------------------------------------

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen. 

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands. 

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way. 

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground. 

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous. 

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back. 

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night. 

-------------------------------------------------

“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister. 

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river. 

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping. 

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend. 

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position. 

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink. 

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it. 

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore. 

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt. 

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

-----------------------------------------------

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.” 

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago. 

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters. 

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late. 

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them. 

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position. 

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur. 

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

[inkabelledesigns]

Vibrance the Hedgehog: Reflecting on a Decade of being a Sonic Fan and an Artist

Today is Sonic’s 30th anniversary, and it has me feeling all kinds of sentimental. So today I want to talk about it. A lot of you probably don’t know I’m a Sonic fan unless you follow me on the voice acting side of things. I’ve been Rouge the Bat in a ton of fan projects for years now, and especially with Adrenaline Dubs, a lot of people recognize my voice from the work I’ve done as her. 

But believe it or not, Sonic is what started me down my path as an artist. I originally started drawing because a friend of mine did cool Sonic fan art back in 2010, and I wanted to be a part of that. My friends were super into the series, and even though most of us drifted away from it, I held on and hopped from group to group for years. Most treated me like garbage, but there were a few diamonds in the rough that I’ve reconnected with over the years. I got hurt badly enough that I stopped drawing Sonic fan art, I just couldn’t look at it without feeling this sickness in my gut. But last night, I got reminded of a video from like seven years ago where it was just a catchy song and a rapid-fire showcase of Sonic fan characters, and I was compelled to go and doodle the one that meant the most to me. I’m not gonna show it here, because it was late and not a great sketch, but I did want to pull up her original artwork.

This is Vibrance, from May of 2014. At one point in my life, she was my whole world. I had a lot of FCs before her, but she was the one that stood out the most. She was the coolest, this audiokinetic teenager who looked up to Sonic and wanted to be a hero like he was (and had a goal of challenging him to a breakdancing battle, that was a thing). This is the only digital version I have, and it’s pulled from my old DA page. I remember being so proud of this picture, my best friend helped me with it during tech class our junior year of high school (we always finished our work early, and the teacher would let us draw when we did). She did the pants wrinkles, but everything else was mine. I loved this drawing so much that when I went to get my senior photos taken, I posed with it. Drawing this stuff was my entire identity back then (and it wasn’t healthy). I wanted people to see me as a skilled artist, I thought that if I could prove myself in my craft, that I’d have the respect I wanted from people, but the groups I was with were mostly filled with these self righteous donkeys that were more interested in making fun of me than helping me improve. 

But that didn’t stop me from improving. Vibe was with me through it all. I transitioned into learning digital art when I reached my last year of high school, mostly because I got my first pen tablet (which I still use to this day). These are some of the pieces I was proud of from 2017. I entered Vibrance into the first annual Pageant Mobius competition, and while I got burnt out and couldn’t keep going, I’m still glad I expanded my horizons and tried new things with these. As I got further into college, got emotionally destroyed in a few relationships, and just had more doubts about my art, I gave up doing Sonic stuff. The last piece I did was this piece of Zonic for my friend Trev, as payment for a favor. That was in 2018, same year I graduated.

I haven’t touched Sonic in a long time, not for art or for pleasure. I joined up with AD mostly because of my friends in the VA scene. If they hadn’t wanted me to stick around, I probably wouldn’t be voice acting for Sonic stuff still. I feel like most people don’t realize I’m an artist these days, given I don’t draw as much, much less post it. They hear my voice, and that’s the thing they want from me. And you know what? Most of the time, I can be okay with that. I get immense joy from voicing characters, be it ones you’re familiar with or personal OCs, hearing people squeal and get excited over having something they love come to life is satisfying. 

That’s the thing I always craved with my art and never got, I wanted to share my excitement, and no one wanted to share it with me. And it wasn’t just visual art, it was my stories too. I was a writer long before I ever drew, like I was still learning cursive when I started making up my own stories. Nobody wanted to hear what I had to share, I was just kind of forgotten. I’m still in some places where I’m left out, no matter how much dedication I show in trying to support others, but I’ve finally found places that do want to listen and interact with what I have, where I’m happy to do the same back. Most of those places are tied to Bendy and nutcracker stuff, and it makes me so gosh darn happy to share those things with people. It’s nice to have a space where I finally feel valued.

So now that I have an outlet that gives me that, I think I’m more content with my drawings. I think I’m happier not worrying about what other people think of my art. Sure, I still worry a little bit, I’ve got a lot of great friends who are so skilled at what they do, I don’t want to look bad next to them, and I’m motivated to keep practicing and trying new things in that way. But at the same time, it ultimately doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, I’m having fun creating, and that’s something I missed a lot.

When I look at Sonic, I’m enveloped by this childish wonder. I’m reminded of my first home console game, Sonic Colors, and how much fun I had with it (you can imagine I’m super excited for the remaster this year, that makes me so happy). I’m reminded of my long car rides trying to beat Sonic Rush Adventure, or sharing the Winter Olympics with my friends and sisters. I laugh at stupid inside jokes with some of my friends, the FCs we made, the roleplays we had. I smile when I remember the hype over Mania, or the joy I had going to see the Sonic movie in the theater with my sister (the last public outing I had before the pandemic hit, and it was magical for every moment). When I look at Sonic, I’m reminded of the fact that I had a lot of fun with him. His series was my favorite, because it made me feel like I could be anything I wanted to be. He was brave, charming, and confident in himself, and he was fast, oh gosh was he fast. I needed to see that as a kid, someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up and do the right thing. Every year on his anniversary, I take a moment to celebrate quietly to myself, usually by popping in an old game and playing a level or two. No clue how I’m gonna celebrate this year, but I know this much: even with all the bad things that happened, nothing can take away how much I love this hedgehog, or how important this franchise was to my journey as a creative, and in becoming a better person. You may not see me share much of that nowadays, but I don’t need to be active in the fandom to be a fan. I’ll still hold Sonic close to my heart, even if no one else ever knows about it. Not gonna lie, I’ve cried a few times in writing this post, but I’m glad I said it. 

Thank you for reading this. Thank you for listening to my artistic ramblings, for supporting me when I have something to share, for being around when I want to geek out. No matter what you come to my page for, I’m glad I have this blog, along with so many lovely people who fill my heart with so much joy. Happy Birthday Sonic, keep on running. 

[marriael]

Be my Latibule? (Changbin x Reader)

@skzrequests​

Request: My pace 24 w changbin? uwu im a sucker for the idea of tattooist bin lmao I so vibed with this request, I love thinking about tattoist bin

Word count: 3717

a/n: part of the reason this took so long is I had to restart it twice :(

You walk into work at Insomnia Coffee Shop and your co-worker, Sohee, greets you.

“Anyone fun yet?” You ask. She's usually in when the store opens and often gets the most interesting customers.

“Not today. But yesterday a cute guy came in and ordered 3 americanos. Turns out it was for him and 2 friends. I tried to give them for free cause he looked half dead but he wouldn't let me. Who even does that?“

While she was talking you had slipped on the ugly orange apron and scowl when you noticed someone double knotted and didn't untie the strings.

You shake your head, “probably a college student pulling an all-nighter. What college student turns down free anything? Ugh, I wish some cute barista offered me free coffee, just, ever.”

Sohee turns and passes the drink over the counter. “For Jeno!”

A cute guy comes up to grab and winks at her before he turns to the door. Your jaw drops a little and you slap her shoulder.

“Is he a regular?” You ask.

“Nope. Said he got a recommendation from a friend and went out of his way to come. Weird day to do it though.”

You hum as the next customer comes in and you get thoroughly distracted. It isn’t until he comes up to the counter and speaks that you stop staring blankly.

“1 latte, 1 americano,” his voice is low and rough and he’s a little bit intimidating honestly. He’s got a small bit of a tattoo poking out one of the sleeves and you try and look at it before you have to turn around.

“Is that a tattoo?” You ask him when you turn around.

He rolls the short sleeve up to his shoulder to expose the full tattoo and you stare at the simple beauty of the moon and stars.

“Woah, that’s cool!” Sohee must’ve seen him just in her peripheral… or she was staring like you. You nod emphatically in agreement.

He blushes a little and says “thanks. Couldn’t reach this part of my arm or else I would’ve done it myself, but I still drew it.”

“Do you work at a tattoo parlour then?”

“Yeah, I do a lot of the designs for our place,”

You gasp, “can I come look at them? Please?” You pout trying to convince him to accept your strange request. You just felt something pulling you towards these drawings and the man who made them.

He looks at you for a moment then says, “yeah, let me give you the address. When you come in just ask for Changbin.”

He pulls out a random business card, not his unfortunately, and writes down the address. He slides it over and covers his smile with a sip.

You turn back to the coffee machines as he walks out the door but Mina stops you.

“Changbin huh? He was pretty cute,” she smirks.

“Hush your mouth and get back to work, brat.”

“Nuh-uh! I get to leave now but if, no no not if when, you meet him we're talking about this later.”

The next day was Tuesday and, thankfully, it was mostly empty of things for you. So you pull out the piece of paper Changbin gave you and looked up the address.

It was just a couple blocks down from the coffee shop and you head out. The building is small and squished right between a bakery and a florist, basically some cheesy romance just waiting to happen.

You walked in and looked around. There were corkboards on either sidewall and they were filled with drawings pinned to them. The bottoms of them fluttered a little at the draft you brought with you.

When you looked at him the man behind the counter raised an eyebrow at you. Ah, so it was very obvious you wouldn't be in here often.

You let out a little nervous laugh, “hi, Changbin told me to come see him here?”

The man raised both eyebrows at that. You fiddled as he looked you over again then laughed a little. “Changbin!” He suddenly yelled.

From one of the closed side rooms comes a muffled voice “go away Chan, I’m busy!”

The man at the desk, Chan, turns back to you “sorry, he’s always like this. He’s probably just sketching a custom.”

“Oh, I can come back later if he’s busy.”

Chan doesn’t answer you and instead yells at Changbin again “I know you’re not actually busy. Your partner is here to see you!”

“Hey!” You protest but Chan just grins at you as you hear the door open.

“Chan what the hell are you-” Changbin cuts himself off and gently smiles when he sees you “hey, didn’t think you were actually gonna come.”

You smile back at him. He looks much softer when he’s smiling and you were briefly caught off guard.

“Tell me again about how you’re not dating or at least interested, “ Chan’s eyes flick between the shy but wide smiles on yours and Changbin’s faces.

Changbin rolls his eyes but inclines his head towards the door he was behind and you follow behind him. He closes the door most of the way behind you and then moves to sit at the desk in the far corner. There are more drawings in here and you assume all of them are his. It’s a wide variety of subjects, from small sketches of animals and plants to large and detailed fantasy creatures.

“Sorry about Chan, he’s always delighted in teasing anyone who’s younger than him,” Changbin shakes his head, probably at Chan even though he can’t see or hear in the room.

“Have you two known each other a long time then?” You ask and tilt your head a little.

“Ah, yeah,” Changbin looks at you again, “most of us met in high school and a couple joined right at the start of college. College was really when our whole group started getting close, too.”

“Sounds nice,” you were paying attention to him, promise, but with such wonderful drawings surrounding you, you really couldn’t help it if your attention drifted a bit.

Changbin notices and raises an eyebrow slightly, “interested in getting one?”

“What? Oh, no no, not right now at least. They’re just… really, really good.”

Changbin immediately looks down and smiles, and you could swear he was blushing a bit but when he looks back up it's gone.

“There’s a couple hidden ones in here that aren’t mine. Think you can spot ‘em?” He challenges.

You immediately head up to one of the boards and stand about 5 centimetres away. You push a couple of them up and out of the way, making sure to be careful. There really is all sorts of stuff, Changbin must be pretty busy. A rushing river done with such detail you can almost see it moving. Swirls that when you look just right suddenly snap into focus to make an abstract, soaring bird. Nature moulded with a person or item in such a seamless way that there is not a difference between them, they are simply one continuous sight.

You’re looking for hidden drawings, not ogling at Changbin’s skills. Right. When you move one more there is a small piece of paper. There is… something on it. Either Changbin drew this when he was about 5 years old or it was someone else.

“Hey, I found one. I don’t even know what this is though, it looks like a squiggle.”

Changbin laughs, “hold on.”

He comes and looks right over your shoulder. You can feel his hot breath on your ear and feel his chest move when he laughs at the drawing again. You quickly reign in the slight disappointment when he moves away.

“Yeah, that’s the thing Chan keeps trying to make our mascot. Felix and I won’t let him so until one of us breaks it’s two against one,” he shrugs and it doesn’t look like he feels bad at all.

“Do all your friends have a drawing stashed in here somewhere?”

“Well, I’ve seen at least 16 drawings put in here so yes they all have one. Some of them and Felix, Jisung’s special twin, has hidden at least 4. There’s probably more that he did when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ugh, how many friends do you even have. If it’s more than, like, 6 I might be genuinely angry.”

Changbin practically cackles, “well then get ready to be absolutely furious. There’s 9 of us, including myself and everyone I’ve already mentioned.”

“That’s not even fair! How have you all been friends for so long without someone murdering someone else.”

“Oh, believe me. Seungmin’s wanted to. Unfortunately, his best friends are some of our greatest problem children. Though sometimes I'm pretty sure he'll murder them first.”

“Any other possible murderers I should worry about seeing?” You flip a couple more pictures up, still passively looking for any other weird drawings.  

“Hm, Minho's murderous intentions are usually directed at Jisung. He'd do it for his cats too, though. He definitely fits in well.”

“Were there concerns about him not fitting in?”

“Yeah 'cause, he was the last one to join us, but he’s just as chaotic if not more. For Chan’s graduation night he insisted on using some mini firework things he found. Nearly lit himself and Jisung on fire with the very first one.”

Something clicks in your brain. You’ve heard this story before, from one of your random classmates. He was… interesting, to put it politely.

“Are you talking about Lee Minho? The smug bastard who tried to get everyone to call him Lee Know for like 5 months? And Han Jisung, my co-worker kind of, that I’m pretty sure hates me for some reason?”

“Wait, you know them? And why do you think Jisung hates you?”

“Yeah, Minho was my weird classmate. I’m like 90% sure Jisung hates me because he barely looks at me and gives one-word answers to all of my questions. I don’t really see him other than during shift switches but still!”

“I think Minho actually might have mentioned you before. And Jisung is just like that around people he doesn’t know. Trust me, he actually has the capacity to be the loudest person in the room. By far.”

“Huh, I wonder how many of your friends I actually know.”

"Well, we're hanging out on Thursday. Do you want to come with and meet some more of them?”

You hum thoughtfully, thinking of any possible commitments you had made lately, “I probably can but can I bring Sohee? Just so I know someone there?”

“Do I still not count as someone you know?” He whines and pouts a little for the extra effect.

“Not enough. If you all go off on some inside joke I need someone to be confused with.”

“Actually fair, because it might happen. I’ll let you know when and where we’re going later then.”

You pull out your phone and extend it to him, when he looks at it confused you raise an eyebrow, “unless you plan to send it by bird I recommend putting your number in my phone.”

He makes a surprised noise and keeps his eyes away from you and on your phone. It has not spread to his face but under his dark hair his bright red ears peek out just enough for you to see. Even when handing it back he doesn’t look at you and you smile at his bashfulness.

“See ya soon, Bin. I work again tomorrow.”

Directions are not always your strong suit. You’d like to believe they are and that’s how you end up like this, no map and unsure of what direction you should even look in.

“You look lost,” a voice comes from behind you.

You spin around. A tall puppy-like guy is standing behind you, he looks slightly amused and you’re betting it’s at your expense.

“Yeah, do you know where M.I.A Café is?”

“Oh,” he nods, “yeah I’m going there. Let’s go.”

It’s slightly awkward, walking this distance with someone you don’t know. You search your brain with how to start a conversation with someone.

“Are you… meeting someone at the café?” You ask, slightly awkward.

“Yeah, a couple of my friends.”

“Huh, so am I. Well, actually, it’s someone else’s friends and I’m just kinda tagging along,” you shrug, realizing how awkward this will probably be.

“Good luck with that,” he says as he holds the door for you.

You enter and scan the tables for Changbin’s face. You wave and slip into the chair opposite him. On the edge of the table thankfully, hopefully Sohee can recognize the back of your head. Someone sits next to you and you get a little shock seeing who it is.

He grins at you, “hey stranger.”

The guy you walked all that way with one of Changbin’s friends!

Changbin looks between you confusedly, “you know Seungmin?”

“He helped me get here. I might have gotten a little lost.”

“A little, ok. You had no idea where you were,” Seungmin snarks.

“Maybe so!”

“Well good to know you get along with another one of my friends already,” Changbin interjects.

Someone comes up and sits beside Changbin.

“Hey, I’m Hyunjin,” he greets you simply.

You give him a little wave. You don’t like judging people so fast but he’s a little intimidating.

You hear a little scrape of a chair beside and Sohee pops down at the end of the table.

“Sohee, you made it!”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” she sticks out her tongue at you.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Hyunjin speaks up and you whip your head towards him.

Sohee looks at him and squints for a moment. They start looking at each other for so long that you think they’re actually just having a staring contest. You think you recognize someone walking outside but when you actually look out the window you have no idea who any of them are. It’s still a nice day out, maybe you can go out somewhere after this.

“Oh! You’re the guy I thought was going to drink 3 americanos the other day!”

“Sohee~” you sing.

“What?” She looks at you, annoyed.

“You forgot an important detail that you told me about him.”

She looks genuinely confused for a moment before catching on and shaking her head, “shut up, nope nope nope.”

“You think he’s cute!” You cackle.

You, Changbin, and Seungmin make fun of Sohee and Hyunjin for a little while. It backfires when Sohee manages to sneakily turn the attention on you, well you and Changbin. Together, you being together.

“Yeah, and you stared at him for so long when he came in!” Sohee says.

“Sohee, kindly shut your mouth,” you reply, smiling the most pained and fake smile ever.

“Ok, please don’t pour your drink on me, I’m afraid. Also we work together so I’m coming for you.”

You just roll your eyes at her, you didn’t actually scare her and you both know that. She just likes to be some sort of annoying sister to you.

Hyunjin clears his throat and when you look at him his eyes are bright. He smiles sneakily and says, “you should hear about the time Changbin actually poured his drink on someone.”

“Hyunjin that was an accident and you know it!” Changbin exclaims, attempting to shoulder check a giggling Hyunjin.

You breeze into Blueprint Tattoos and Chan looks up in surprise.

“Hey there, didn’t know you were coming in today.”

You let out a single, unnatural ‘ha’, “I didn’t know either but uh, here I am.”

“Well, Changbin’s in his usual spot. I don’t think he has anything today.”

“Thanks,” you nod stiffly.

Looking around at the cork boards you can see some of them definitely done in Changbin’s style and a handful more you suspect would be his. You breathe out heavily and slouch a little before straightening and walking towards where Changbin should be, full of false confidence.

“Are you ok?” Chan asks and when you look over his eyebrows are furrowed and his forehead pinched down a little. The concern from someone you barely know is a little unusual but the warmth you get from it is welcoming.

“Yeah, just a little nervous you know?” You force a small laugh but you know it’s not convincing.

“Oh!” Chan exclaims, “well if this is what I think it is then good luck.”

Chan’s face is completely relaxed and you feel a little bit bad for making him worry so much. You’re not entirely sure what he thinks you’re doing but you smile at his kindness as you open Changbin’s door.

He has headphones in and doesn’t hear when you close the door behind you. You stand there for a minute, back against the door, just looking at him. Most people move to what they’re listening to but the only thing moving is his hand and it glides across the page. You have no idea what he’s doing but you just hope he’ll show it to you when he’s done.

You take a big breath in and out before approaching him. Tapping his shoulder gently you hope not to cause him to jerk his arm and ruin a line or anything. He stops completely and pulls his headphones out. He looks a little annoyed but then he looks up to see you and his face eases.

“Hi! I didn’t know you were coming today. Anything specific on the brain or did you just want to hang out with Best Friend Binnie?” He gives you an exaggerated and comical wink.

“Give me a tattoo?” You say, surprisingly calm for how jittery you actually feel.

“Wait, what? Are you sure? Like really sure?”

You roll your eyes like a stereotypical teenager would at their parents, that is to say, so far back it felt like they would disappear into your head, “no, Changbin, I’m not sure. I’ve really only been thinking about it basically since the first time I walked into this room.”

“That was only a week ago,” Changbin deadpans.

“Yeah, and?”

Changbin shakes his head, “I’m not going to give you a tattoo you’ll regret.”

You look around at the drawings. Feeling like that one action gave this decision away as way more spontaneous than it had originally seemed. Yes, you had been thinking about getting one and getting Changbin to do it for you but doing it today specifically was a complete impulse.

“I’m not going to regret it! Bin, please,” you pout at him.

Changbin tilts his head to look at the ceiling as if it will give him some guidance.

“What do you want?”

You clap your hands excitedly and then hesitate again.

“Well, I know I want a flower but… I want you to choose which one. I want it to be a flower with a good meaning behind it.”

Changbin nods and stands there considering your request. You take the time to look around his office again. Staring at all the intricate drawings on the walls you feel a bit dorky choosing to get a simple flower. Your eyes briefly catch on two stylized drawings of the word SpearB. One of them has a cute little ‘Binnie~’ under it and the other has a messy ‘Chanathan’ in English and Korean.

There are a couple of flowers scattered throughout the room so you’re a bit surprised when you hear Changbin ripping a page out of his sketchbook. His back is to you so you can’t see him cutting it down to a size to la and trace on your body. You can hear the gentle snips of scissors as you distract yourself with rows of flowers connected and individual petals with such detail you could believe them being real.

You watch as he gently traces the pattern onto your skin. You don’t recognize the flower right away but it looks delicate and beautiful. You think you catch him glancing up at you a few times but you’re pretty sure the clock is behind you and he’s looking at that.

You zone out almost entirely as he prepares. Well, it’s not exactly zoning out. You’d say it’s appreciation of an attractive man, your friends would say that you’re just checking him out.

Ok, so what if you are? Changbin’s shirt has no sleeves which means his arms are on full display which means that you can’t stop looking at the muscles flexing as he moves. Thankfully you’re conscious enough to look away when he turns back around.

The buzz of the gun wakes you up and Changbin is looking at you.

“All good?” He asks.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

You watch for a moment as he starts going and the ink sinks permanently into your skin. It’s a strange thing to conceptualize, something being on your body forever. You catch a glimpse of Changbin’s concentrated face and you get completely distracted by him. If this is what he looks like everytime he gives a tattoo then you want to observe, even study, him.

His mouth is set in a firm line and eyebrows pinched slight inwards and downwards. His eyes are wide and focused and if you look closely enough you can see every slight movement of his irises following his hand around.

Neither of you say a word and you don’t dare move to try and look at the clock or your phone. Just watching and waiting in silence, but together. A shared silence is different than one had alone.

Silences by yourself can feel wrong sometimes but this kind of silence with Changbin feels so right that you almost never want it to end.

Good things often come quicker than they should and soon the buzzing stops. You can hear phantom buzzing still and suspect you will for quite a while. You lift your arm and look at it, it’s finished now but you’re still not sure what it is and certainly not what it means.

“What is it?” You ask.

“An almond blossom. It, uh, it means promise.”

“Promise, huh?” You grin and look at Changbin's pink-ish face.

You expect him to have some witty comment but instead, he just smiles goofily and breathlessly says, “yeah.”

[captainsuke]

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.