#but then i miraculously figured out how to do some shading

[martsonmars]

“non paragonarmi a una bitch così”

Tuta gold — Mahmood

reference — the moment I saw it I thought “someone needs to draw Baz in this” and then I realised... I could do that.

[imthepunchlord]

Man, hearing about the season 1 days of miraculous makes remember when we first saw the leaks of the season and first the art for the pearls and stone, Alya with the fox (and how everyone called her Volpina), and Chloe with the bee. Man, those were days. I also remember how everyone was thinking Gabriel had the peacock and Emilie had the butterfly originally. I even remember when we first got that one image of Pixie Girl, and everyone thought she was a teenage Emilie with the butterfly miraculous that was going to appear in a flashback episode 😆. Ah, I miss those days.

Gosh so much is taking me back.

I remember expanded Square chaos. I remember there were theories of Ladybug and "Volpina"/Rena being rivals/antagonists to each other as a reversal of them being best friends + clearly Marinette wouldn't trust the new Fox (which I was never crazy about, especially as you typically didn't see that for Adrien and Nino, felt like turning girls against each other); and QB and LB were going be friendly. And there were speculated shenanigans for QB and RR, I think there was also a small rise of Chloya and the idea that maybe they'd have their own Square going.

Some I didn't see, like the theory that Pixie was teen Emilie, but I did see that she was planned for the NY Special, and there were the plans for the Shanghai Special.

I really did theorize that Marinette and Adrien were going to get their own exclusive Specials to be focused on, with Marinette in Shanghai and Adrien in NY and he for sure was going to work with Pixie.

Another theory I had was where Fu was going to become Marinette's mentor, Gabriel was going to be Adrien's, cause I did like the idea that he had the Peafowl, not Emilie. And I thought this concept art of Duusu was her being furious with Gabriel literally shutting her away.

And something was going to go down and this "Paon" was going to steal the Peafowl from Gabriel.

Or she already did and what Gabriel had was a fake.

And potentially that HM was who Gabriel and Emilie feared and that's why Adrien wasn't allowed out.

Those really were the days. The theories were so fun. And much of it I think was more interesting than what we got.

And it was a time of aus. I don't know how many aus are being done for ML these days, I think most are salt fics now, but that was the time to have fun, do different spins. Doing kwami swaps. Life swaps. Cowboy au.

You could get creative with akumas, like, I remember finding old fics that swapped Marientte with Bridgette and trapped her in a different reality/timeline, and I kinda wish the Paris Special did that. Off topic, but I feel the Paris Special should've gone full comedy and full reversal for characters. And that we actually got to see this different Paris.

Like, could you imagine Marinette and Emonette swapping places, either through akuma or Bunnyx, and Marinette's scrambling trying to figure out how to get back and how to keep going in this topsy turvy world where apparently Ladybug is a villain? "Hawk Moth" is a good guy? Wtf is Chat wearing? Wtf happened to Adrien.

And you got Emonette just needing shades cause this world is so bright and sunny and why do these people keep talking to her? Tf happened to Adrien, was he a poser this whole time? HM's a villain? But of course he's a bad villain just like he's a bad hero. And ooooh she's going to have so much fun with Chloe... and who tf is this Lila and what does she think she's doing picking a fight with Emonette. Oh, she's adding her to her list...

And you could add to it if kwamis were also kinda reversed.

Emonette stuck with canon Tikki trying to get her Marinette back, but also trying to rein in Emonette, try to be that voice of reason and her consciousness, and oh, she's dumping all of Chloe's things down the toilet... she's got her work cut out for her.

Meanwhile Special Tikki is more "pure luck" and is more chaotic and sporadic, she's not outright malicious, but she's just rolling with that neutralness of luck, it having good and bad and it comes down to karma and your own actions. She's just here to sit and watch the consequences play out. Emonette was kinda funny though she was predictable in her karma as her negative actions fed negative consequences. But man, this Marinette is freaking hilarious. Tikki is constantly eating popcorn, enjoying the show cause she never knows what she's going to get with this well meaning if all over the place Marinette.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Seventeen (Part 2)

We get dressed and head off to the festival grounds after that, and Claire, Shane and I agree that we want to go and see Fight Like Apes who are playing at midday. Jen opts to come with us, and I expect Jude to come too, but he decides to go with Joe and Kasper to see some DJ called Tiga, which throws me even more.  Maybe I’m just overthinking. I tell myself he’s being normal, and that he’s probably just playing it cool.

The festival is so busy that day that I don’t see him around again after that, but I try my best to ignore the heavy feeling in my stomach, and the increasing thoughts that maybe I did something to annoy him, or maybe I’m a bad kisser and he’s disgusted by me. Maybe I’m too young and immature, or that he’s figured out that I’m actually a big loser with nothing interesting to say. Maybe everyone is right about me.

Claire is having fun though, and she looks so beautiful dressed all in white in the sun. Every time I think it’s impossible for her to look prettier, she somehow does, and I know I’m not the only one who’s thinking it. I catch Shane looking at her more than once with an expression I’ve never seen him wear before: pure unabashed adoration. Like she’s the sun that lights up his sky. I hope he realises how lucky he is. They’re inseparable all day, and stand together through every concert we go to with their arms around each other, him delivering little kisses to the top of her head as he holds her. Watching them like this makes my heart ache. I want more than anything for somebody to look at me like that, or to touch me like that, but instead I feel heavy with the knowledge that the boy I like is off somewhere, lost in the realm of this gigantic festival, probably with a plastic cup of Corona in each hand, listening to some mindless electronica that he doesn’t even enjoy and not thinking much about me at all. 

I don’t do a good job of hiding my listlessness when Jen and I sit down for lunch together in the shade of the marquee we were just crammed into for a Crystal Castles gig a few minutes ago. 

“What’s up, chicken?” She unwraps a burrito and lays into it. 

“Nothing. I’m tired.”

She nods. “Have you had anything to drink?”

“No.”

She slides the cup of beer she bought for herself across the picnic bench to me and gestures to it like Bon Appetit. “Have one on me, it’ll make you feel better.”

“Won’t drinking just make me feel worse?”

“No! There’s truly nothing a drink won’t fix, right?” She nudges Shane, who’s just joined us at the table with Claire still stuck to his side. He looks at me disapprovingly and then starts to say something boring about how I’m too young to drink, even though he was miraculously fine with Claire doing it yesterday, but Jen just rolls her eyes and tells him to shut up. “You have to stop with this protective-older-brother craic, let her live her life.”

“Well I know her mam, and I know what she’d say if she knew she was drinking.”

“Are you going to tell on her?” 

He knows it’d be heinous to do that, and I know that he never would. I grab the beer and I gulp it down, just to show him that I can. I’ve been drinking since I was fifteen and I know how to handle it as well as he does.

“Better?” Jen asks me, and I nod, even though I find beer to be generally disgusting. The taste transports me to days spent drinking Tesco lager in a field after school until someone throws up. I bring the empty cup over to a nearby bin where a guy with shorn hair is openly urinating. “That’s so foul.” I tell him, letting my horrible feelings seep out of me. I don’t care, he’s a stranger. 

“Piss off.” He suggests, and then directs the stream towards me instead. I jump out of the way too late and it splashes on my wellies. I cry out and try to shake them dry while he cackles with delight. Everything around me seems ugly, I’m so aware of the litter all over the ground, overflowing bins, the horrible man who pissed on my boots, and the smell of distant porta-loos. The sweet, cloying taste of beer in my mouth is making me feel ill. 

Claire is so happy that she’s able to buy alcohol now, so throughout the day I keep giving her money to get me cups of white wine. I drink them quickly, and eventually they do make me feel better, in an synchronously awful kind of way. We go from gig to gig, and I have drink after drink until the day blurs together into one long smear of loud drum beats and bitter wine. I don’t ever really get drunk, the time between each break and the queues for the alcohol stands is so long that I just stay in this queasy purgatory state between states of being until I run out of money and nobody wants to buy anything else for me.

The evening settles down with the smell of bonfires, and eventually we meet up with the three others under the entrance to go and see Foo Fighters, which everyone unanimously decided would be the unmissable gig of the weekend. I feel nervous in anticipation of seeing Jude, now so entirely convinced after a whole day of catastrophizing that he hates my guts, actually, and wouldn’t come to my funeral if I died. 

He’s not that bad, but he’s not being especially friendly either. The only way I can think to describe him is as neutral. Like he’s not experiencing any emotions right now, and when I’m used to him being so lively and expressive it’s very unsettling to be around him. When we start pushing into the crowd I give in to my anxiety and touch Jen’s elbow. “Is Jude okay?”

She nods while rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I think he’s just in one of his moods.”

I didn’t realise he had moods. I can’t think of what to say to that, my thoughts feel fuzzy, so I just utter a dejected: “Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I had to see him like this all the time at school. Just ignore him, he’ll be grand tomorrow.”

“Nothing happened to him, did it?”

“I doubt it. He’s just in his head about something, probably.” She leans towards me. “He’s a scorpio.” She explains, as though that’s supposed to mean something to me. 

I’m still trying to remember what scorpios do when we reach the churning centre of the crowd. It makes me anxious, but everybody else is just diving right in, so I do too. I’m wedged between walls of bodies on all sides of me, but there’s a distinct excitement rising all around. I’m still holding on to Jen, the others seem to have been swallowed up by the crowd like they were never there in the first place.

The first thing I can hear is the soft plucking strings of the opening line of The Pretender rings through the air, and then I can’t see Dave Grohl, but I can hear him. The crowd starts to transform from a solid mass of bodies into something fluid, and I realise that I’m being pushed out of the way, my spot being stolen by big men shoving their way to the front, all limbs flailing everywhere, launching themselves through the crowd to try and get closer as the drums start pounding. One of them actually grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me backwards out of Jen’s grip like I have no right to be where I am, no girls allowed in the Foo Fighters mosh pit. Another one crashes suddenly into the side of my ribs and I am so desperate to escape. When a third bangs his body against me he catapults me into the man behind me and tears spring to my eyes. I let myself go totally limp and let the heaving motion of the animal spit me out to the back shoulders shaking, sobbing and alone.  

When I look back at the pulsing crowd I can’t believe I was in there. It’s a rat king of testosterone, men shoving each other around to the music, hands grabbing collars and shoulders, and in the middle of it I see Joe, Kasper and Jude, gleefully participating in the chaos. I can’t help but feel dismayed, remembering how quick he’d been to save me from the crowd yesterday, holding me in front of him and shielding me from pointy elbows and stomping feet, and today when the crowd is bigger and rougher he’s left me to fend for myself. I don’t know what I did. Maybe I’m just too inexperienced, and he wants a woman, not some seventeen year old. I should have let him keep kissing me, I should have let him take me back to his tent and shown him that I’m grown up enough. That’s what a normal girl would have done. 

I go and stand at the very back where I can see the band, but barely. They’re just little black smudges on a blazing stage. I know the songs but I don’t sing along, or dance, or even uncross my arms from my chest. I stand there until they finish, crying my makeup off my face. I feel like a husk. Hollowed out, nauseous, tipsy. 

Prev // Next

[erisluna35ocblog]

Last one for this set! It's my OC Keagan! Now this guy presented another challenge: hands. Because this style is supposed to keep line art to a minimum, I had to rely on shading to get his fingers detailed out. And of course, that spiky hair. It was tricky to figure out how it works. I need to map out his hair flow before I could render uuuugh.

Introducing the reverse world's closest thing to a Ladyblogger, Keagan Gerald Aurelio-Ashworth! Much like Reverse!Alya, he gets an undershave... and that's pretty much it. I guess the gold accessories and the sunglasses could be taken as a stronger referrence to Chloe as being the rich mayor's son has more emphasis in this AU. He's not exactly based on anyone from canon when he's like this, his design is based on making him as opposite to his og design as possible with very mild referrences to akumas and his og akuma form, Scorch, embracing the power the butterfly grants him rather than being averse to it. He's not exactly a reporter, he hangs around the upper echelons of society hence the semi-formal design instead of his og counterpart's more down to earth casual wear. Next to Fiona, he's like the second most altered compared to how he normally looks.

Why is he like this?

The short answer, it's cause the Supreme has his family under their thumb.

It started with a bad deal, his uncle died trying to dig their family out of it, his aunt Lorelei and cousin Leo ran off, and being overprotective with what family he had left, Mayor Julio Aurelio had Keagan locked up in their castle for his safety... And now what's left of the Aurelio-Ashworth Family are stuck under the Supreme's thumb. They're a political puppet and a goldmine rolled into one.

Keagan is not the sort to keep his head down. He's aware of what's happening, try as his family might to hide it from him. He still developed his hacking skills and had eyes and ears everywhere. He knows how fucked they are. For the longest time, Keagan felt so untrusting of everyone new... Never know if one of those people are under the Supreme's influence. He's heard they're eyeing him and his elder sister for their potential in wielding a Miraculous, and he's seen what happens to underage wielders after a while. Their life expectancies aren't that great, but that's why they use kids for it. They're easier to control. Sooner or later, it'll be Keagan's turn. Try as he might to find a way out, he couldn't find any. The most he could do was disrupt whatever dealings he could find - honestly, he doesn't want the same thing that happened to his family happen to anyone else. He was a minor annoyance at best. For the longest time, he felt trapped.

Then one day, his cousin reached out to him through a butterfly that landed on his watch. He wants him to join the Resistance as an insider. Through butterflies, Keagan can relay what he learns of the Supreme and in emergencies, they can either give him the power to transform or call out for a hero to save him. All he has to do is continue to play the fool and keep his ears up. His cousin heard his rep, the hedonistic party prince. While it wasn't a complete lie, he fools around to forget he's in deep shit, it wasn't the quite true either. It was the easiest way for him to be as disruptive as possible. But now, with his cousin as his life line, Keagan went from a minor annoyance to a potential back door for the Resistance. There's finally some hope he can pull him and his family out from under the Supreme's thumb.

Eventually, he met her.

He didn't think much of her at first, just another rich girl from new money. She's pretty fairy tale princess cute, he'd give her that. Her father was desperately trying to climb the social ladder... And was gonna fall for the Supreme's scam. As expected, they were hella annoyed with his interruptions but what else could he do to save them? Keagan knows this isn't necessary, when there's more effective ways to put a middle finger up at the Supreme, but he can't help it. Keagan just had to save them, even if neither of them would see it that way.

The girl was persistent. To Keagan's genuine surprise, she wasn't chasing him cause she's mad at him, she was following him to warn him that the Supreme goons are gonna mess with him for disrupting one too many deals that night. Aww. He's touched. Really. That's why he was covering her head with his jacket so the Supreme wouldn't target her too. He hopes his cousin heard all that and sends someone to save their butts.

That night was also the first night he properly met the Resistance. To his surprise, his aunt Lorelei decided to let the girl be the new Ladybug. If anyone asked him, he wasn't too thrilled about it. This girl had nothing to do with the Supreme nor the Resistance. She could've been free... much like he wished he was. Yet she chose to wear the earrings.

Contrary to his expectations, this is where the girl truly blossomed. The pretty princess turned out to be more of a knight in shining armor. Maybe she could save him.

[rcreveal]

The Trouble with a Keen Manager, Ch 14

In this pre Antichrist 1990's Through the Ages, Crowley lost his powers to a Hellish Accountability Drive. Develops more of the relationship that would allow them to work together so closely to oppose Armageddon in a few short years.

Chapter 14

Despite having little to no access to demonic powers, Crowley was gaining on Usher, he could feel it.  Over the next week, Usher’s denials got ever more nit-picky.  Yesterday, when Crowley complained that Usher had suddenly started making denials based on Strunk & White’s “Elements of Style”, Aziraphale sat up from his desk, looked over his glasses and growled, “Hand me that!”  Seeing the angel pull out his fountain pen (the red inked one) and a much thumbed copy of the grammatical reference reminded Crowley of a time Aziraphale had jousted with a particularly uncouth knight, faulting his lack of chivalry as bitingly as he landed blows with lance and sword.  The red-marked report looked almost as bad as the overmatched knight, “Let’s see him wriggle his way out of that,” the angel declared, almost as triumphantly as when he’d stood over the defeated blighter, sword to his throat, crying, “Yield, knave! For you lack the wit and mettle to be called a knight!”  No wonder Aziraphale’s manager had eventually caved to his requests and granted him that unlimited license.  The angel was relentless.  Made Crowley wonder about who’d organized some of the successful write-in campaigns that had miraculously led to good works.  

Crowley certainly was learning new levels of confustication.  A sneaking, furtive part of himself enjoyed the challenge: he had lodgings, a legal job, food, and even enjoyed crafting his persona as ‘the bloke in the kilt.’  Figuring out how to flannel his reports with ‘evil doing’ was a constant test of his (and Aziraphale’s) creativity, tho’ working in a pub and lodging at a brothel helped.

Looking up from his reports, Crowley said to Aziraphale, “You should come round for a drink.” 

“At your lodgings!? I think not!” the angel retorted, selecting his next tea cake from the tier.  Crowley had brought their repast this time.

“No, not at Madame’s!  At the Dirty Donkey! I am a barkeep, you know,” Crowley snagged a quiche off the lower tier.

“The Agatha Christie readers meet tonight and I’m sure they’d all love to have a glance at your annotated editions,” Crowley suggested waggling his eyebrows.

“A women’s book club meeting at a pub seems a little…” the angel said uncomfortably.

“Modern? Forward thinking? Egalitarian?” Crowley offered, “The ladies like a tipple as much as the men, angel.”

“I’ve noticed quite a lot of young ladies over at the pub lately, how did you tempt them all in?” Aziraphale asked between bites.

“Why don’t you come by and ‘thwart my wiles’ tonight and you can see for yourself?” Crowley teased.

Knock, knock, knock

“I’m sure I put the “Very closed” sign up,” Aziraphale said to Crowley, not moving from the tea-tray.

“Maybe it’s a package?  The delivery blokes don’t like to leave boxes on the stoop,” Crowley replied, getting up to peek around the shades.

Knock, knock, knock

The mail slot opened and a young female voice called, “Mr Fell? Mr Fell, may I please talk to you, Mr Fell?”

Looking over at Crowley and the door quizzically, Aziraphale called, “Just a moment,” getting up and brushing the crumbs off his lap.

Opening the door, Aziraphale saw two young ladies, probably University students, holding a sheaf of hand-made flyers.

“Thank you for talking with us Mr Fell.” the first young lady’s face lit up and she waved energetically on catching sight of Crowley, “Oh! Hi, Anthony!” the young woman said.

Aziraphale looked from the young woman to Crowley and back, “What can I do for you today?” he said graciously.

The second young lady said, “We were hoping you would be willing to put up these flyers to support our “Take Back the Night” event this Friday!” She handed him a couple of flyers.

Scanning the paper, Aziraphale inquired, “From whom would you be taking the night back?” and waited patiently with an encouraging smile.

“We think it’s not right that women still can’t feel safe out in the town of an evening!  We have to worry about blokes cat calling and not taking ‘No’ for an answer.  We even have to watch for them trying to put drugs in our drinks!  It’s real, Mr Fell!  It happened to us over at the Dirty Donkey!  Right, Anthony?”

“Yeah, hen, I was there,” Crowley confirmed.

“And if a woman does try and press charges, she’s likely to be put on trial herself!  Blamed for what she was wearing or that she wasn’t in the right place, or that she was having a pint herself.  It’s not right and we’re not going to stand for it anymore!”

“My word! So, what are you ladies planning on Friday?” Aziraphale asked the young women, seeing echoes of the suffragettes he’d assisted some decades before.

“We’re having a walk through the neighborhood at night with as many women as will come. Will you please post these fliers in your shop?” the young woman asked.

“Yes, I’d be happy to hang your flyers,” Aziraphale said, accepting several, “Good luck, ladies!”

Turning to Crowley, the angel speculated, “A bunch of young ladies frequenting a pub with a reputation for routing louts with malicious intent?”

“One could say those ladies were planning to ‘foment social unrest’,” Crowley suggested blandly, looking down at his nails.

“One probably could, if his reports are to be believed,” the angel shot back, rummaging in his desk.  Pulling out the Sellotape, the angel handed it and the flyers to the demon, “I’ll let the instigator of this unrest put up his own flyers, unless you fancy doing the dishes today?”

Grinning, Crowley said, “Nah, I did ‘em yesterday,” and neatly taped up the flyers to the bookshop windows.

Before leaving the bookshop with today’s pile of requisitions, Crowley called out to the angel, “So I’ll see you with the Agatha Christies tonight?”

“You told them I have annotated copies?” Aziraphale leaned out of the kitchen wearing an ironed linen apron.

“Didn’t tell them,” Crowley temporized, “Might’ve hinted that if anyone did, it would be you.” “Wicked old beast,” Aziraphale complained genially, thinking only to himself, that Crowley’s public confrontation of those brutes at the Dirty Donkey may have touched off another powerful movement for good.  But Aziraphale wouldn’t tell anyone.

In the Bentley, parked behind Madame’s, Crowley pulled out the sheaf of Usher’s denials and fed in his stack of requisitions and re-submissions, back-dated as long as possible.  He was rather pleased with the computer programming improvements he’d created that were making this escalating battle with Usher easier on himself.  Crowley wondered sometimes, how many demons had to be working away to combat what he was doing with one home computer and a fiercely literate angel.

Usher was barely allotting him any demonic powers, explaining that he should need less since he was still active with what he had.  Wretched awful bureaucratic nonsense.  

Crowley mentally checked his resources.  His experience, over a thousand years of the Arrangement and over 6000 years of being on Earth meant that Crowley wasn’t out of the game.  With the strong ‘feed him up’ signal his corporation was sending to anyone within range (the gruff fish and chips bloke had added an extra serving unasked), he finally had been able to find a feeding and sleeping schedule for his corporation that let him function well.  His charming personality had netted him human co-conspirators who supported his credentials as a demon by providing lodgings in a brothel and work with ‘demon drink’ at the pub.   He was still escorting Madame to the bank, so that was using a counterfeit identity to help launder money from the brothel into a legitimate foundation.  Subverting Home Office’s efforts to discorporate him had to count for something.  And he had a chief co-conspirator in Aziraphale. Not that he’d call the angel that to his face.

Crowley smirked to himself.

All in all, he figured he was set to oppose Usher indefinitely.

Thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day.

More to read at my Masterlist

[xxspringmelodyxx]

Love and War~

Hello my lovely readers! I hope you are having a fabulous day and are ready to read because I am happy to introduce to you a new story! This one is a Genshin boys x F. Reader story. There is a lot that will happen and a lot that you are going to find out…but all will be explained in the story. To keep it brief and short, you are Lady Y/n, taken in by and linked to the royal family of Illyria. Your kingdom is in a bloody war with two other kingdoms, and it has been going on for years. You find out that the king has come up with a plan to stop this war…or at least that’s what he has told you. You quickly find out the truth behind this ‘plan’ of his and need to figure out a way to stop him before he makes things worse for you and future generations! Along the way you find new people…and potentially new love interests…but out of everything, will you be able to stop destruction before it happens? Who knows…

Was that a good summary? I sure hope so, lmao. Anyways, I’m going to let you read the first chapter. Again, I am always open for constructive criticism to help my stories sound better and easier to read! Let me know if you have any suggestions, and if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this story, just lmk! Okay, I’ll shut up now! Enjoy~

_________

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: A bit of swearing but nothing else I think <3

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Ch. I

I walked through the town, enjoying how quiet and calm it was. The sun was just barely above the horizon, painting the sky with a gorgeous golden shade, blending in beautifully with the blue. The rays hit the grass blades perfectly, allowing them to brighten up and even sparkle a bit from the dew forming. I walked in front of some of the shops surrounding me, looking for one shop in particular. A few “hellos” were exchanged as I walked by the owners getting ready to open their shops up. I turned a corner and within an instant, the smell of fresh bread shot up my nostrils, almost making my mouth water. 

The corners of my mouth slightly raised as I walked towards the bread and cake shop, ready to buy as much as I could. 

And there it was, a small wooden stand with tons of bags of bread and cakes, all freshly made from a bakery further out of the town. They were all beautifully displayed, all with different ingredients, designs, and even colors. 

“Ah, there’s my favorite customer! How are you, my dear?” An elderly voice said, making me look to my side. There, I see Mr. Yoshiba, a frail and short man with the biggest smile on his face. He felt his way towards me, trying to come into contact with my hand. I softly reached for it and held it, helping him across the shop.

“I am doing well, Mr. Yoshiba, thank you. How are you doing?” I asked

“Oh, I’m doing just fine, dear. I’m assuming you’ve come here to buy some bread, eh?” He asked

I nodded, my stomach quietly growling.

“Oh my, your stomach is waiting to be fed! We can’t let that go on for much longer now, can we?”

“How did you even hear that? It was so quiet?” I asked, chuckling.

“Ms. L/n, I’m blind, but I’m not deaf. I can hear almost anything from a mile away!” He said with confidence.

“Only when you want to. If grandmother was speaking to you, your hearing miraculously goes away.” Another male voice was heard. I smiled as I instantly recognized his soothing voice.

I turned my head to the left and saw Thoma walking out of the carriage, arms full of bread.

“Hello, Lady Y/n.” He said with a soft smile. I rolled my eyes, walking over to him and helping him take the bread to their respective areas.

“You know I hate it when you call me that.” 

“Yeah, but it's funny to see your face crinkle up like that when I do.” He teased, placing the bread in the bins.

I playfully punched him in the shoulder, making him fake cry.

“Oh, why must you abuse me? What ever have I done to make you so hurtful?” He said, wrapping his arms tightly around me, squeezing me as hard as he could.

“Thoma! Let me go!” I said as he lifted me up off the ground.

“Not until you say sorry.” He said.

“Sorry for what?” I said, trying to breathe.

“For punching me!”

“No way! It was a light punch! You wouldn’t even bruise with that!”

“A punch is a punch.” He said, squeezing me tighter. I let out a small squeak as he did that.

“Okay, okay, fine! I’m sorry! Now let me go! I can barely breathe!” I said, making him smirk.

He let me go, carefully placing me back down on the ground.

“There. See, now was that so hard?” He said, booping my nose.

“You're a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?” I said, seeing his smirk become wider.

“Yes, but I’m your pain in the ass.” He said, turning on his feet to put some cakes away.

“Oh, leave her alone, Thoma! You keep acting like that, and you will never get her to be your girlfrien-”

“O-Oh Grandpa, I think there is some mold on the bread over there!” Thoma interrupted Mr. Yoshiba, a light red hue slowly forming on his cheeks.

Mr. Yoshiba quickly turned around, freaking out that there was mold on his bread.

“How could this happen?! You must’ve done this, Thoma!” he said, feeling his way over to his newly made bread.

“Me? I helped grandma bake the cakes. You were the one who made the bread this time.” He replied

“No, no. You should’ve covered them better when putting them in the bags!” Yoshiba said

“Grandpa, there isn’t even mold on the bread!”

“Then why did you say there was?!”

“Because you were going to say something I would’ve regretted!”

“You would’ve regretted?”

“Yes! Because you are an old, annoying man sometimes!” Thoma said

“Oh now you’ve done it! Get over here!” Yoshiba said, grabbing his table cloth and hitting Thoma

“Ouch! Grandpa! Knock it off!”

“I may be old, buddy, but I still have the strength of a stallion!” Yoshiba said, continuing to hit Thoma with the cloth.

I chuckled at the two, smiling at their bickering. They were like two children sometimes.

Suddenly, a new voice was heard, making the hairs on my neck stand up. He was the new captain of the Illyrian knights.

“Lady Y/n.” He said, looking down at me from his horse. The whole area suddenly became dead silent. Mr. Yoshiba and Thoma paused as they watched the man get off his horse. I turned around to see the long, blond haired man. He was a bit taller than me, maybe by an inch or so. His hair was tied back into a long braid that reached the end of his back, and he had bright, golden eyes that were dull with no life in them whatsoever.

“Aether. What can I do for you?” I said politely, not letting his demeanor affect me. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but the king has requested for you to come back. There is an important discussion that he wishes to announce to you and the rest of the family.” He said, making me frown

“He can’t just announce it to his family? What difference does it make if I am there? He hardly treats me like family anyways, so just tell him he can do it without me.” I said, turning back to Thoma. However, Aether grabbed my wrist and turned me back to face him

“Lady Y/n, I insist that you go. It involves the possibility of ending the ongoing war between us, the Kingdom of Inazuma, and the Kingdom of Liyue.” he said, making my eyes widen just a bit. 

A chance of reuniting with the other kingdoms? A chance to bring peace between everyone so that innocent people no longer have to die? Oh how happy father would have been to see that. Seeing people from all kingdoms working together rather than against each other. Seeing new families formed from the ending of the war. Seeing new life come from the death of the war. It sounds amazing!

“Lady Y/n?” Aether asked, bringing me out of my own little world. I looked up at him and nodded

“Alright, I will go. But let me buy something first, I am starving!” I said

“There is no time. Plus, there is food already waiting for you.” Aether said, pulling you with him onto his horse, taking you to the kingdom.

“Hey!” I said with frustration towards Aether. I looked back at Thoma seeing him watch me ride away. I frowned towards him, waving goodbye. 

“You know, you could’ve at least let me say goodbye to Thoma and Mr. Yoshiba.” I complained, but Aether just ignored me. It was like that for the rest of the ride there. Complete silence.

–

“Ah, Y/n, you’ve made it. And just on time as well! Please, have a seat.” The king said with a smile, pointing towards a chair on the opposite side of him and my mother. I looked and saw that my sister was there as well, grinning widely and almost…sinisterly. Odd.

I took a seat, allowing myself to get situated. 

Aether pushed my chair in and walked out of the room, closing the large doors behind him.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard from Aether, we have come up with a plan to reunite our kingdom with the others to hopefully end this bloody battle that has been going on for years. It will take time, but I am positive that it will work.” He said, clenching his fist as he thought of his bright plan.

“Okay…so what is it?” I asked

“You see, your sister is a very beautiful girl. She's got her looks, her smarts, her talents-all thanks to yours truly of course.” He interrupted himself, filling himself with pride. I rolled my eyes, growing tired of him already. It was barely 8 in the morning, and he was already filling his head with nonsense.

“I don’t know. Personally, I think she gets it from our mother.” I said, trying to deflate his ego.

He glared at me, not amused with what I said. 

“Y/n.” My mother spoke up with what sounded to be a bit of fear in her voice.

I looked towards her to see her shake her head in disapproval. 

I sighed softly and leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over each other.

There was a bit of silence between all four of us for a couple of seconds before the almighty King of Illyria spoke once again.

“As I was saying, your sister has many charming characteristics. A great many that I feel would be vital to help our kingdom.” He said, smiling towards his daughter.

“Okay, and? How is that going to help?” I said, losing my patience with him.

“It will help because your sister is going to be marrying one of the princes.” He said, making my eyebrows furrow. Zelina marrying one of the princes? 

I mean, it could work. Zelina is a very pretty woman and she he knows how to act polite…notice I used the word “act”. While Zelina may be very pretty, her personality altogether is horrid. She constantly yells at the maids and chefs for not doing their job perfectly. For instance, Constance, one of our long-time maids, had accidentally dropped a cup on the ground because she was already holding too many items for one person to hold. When Zelina saw what happened, she almost fired the poor woman. Thankfully, mother reasoned with her and got Constance out of being fired. Although she was still punished for it. 

She also yells at the chefs when the food is too hot…or if it's too cold. It’s like she can’t be happy for just one second without finding something to complain about. 

Sure, she can act like the woman of every man's dream for a while, but I wonder…how long would she be able to keep that act up. Marrying someone, especially a prince for that matter, will take time. You have to first learn who they are; you have to make sure you both agree on certain ideas, learn what makes them tick, etc. But most importantly, you have to gain their trust. That all together could take many months to even years to do. 

Anyone in their right mind could see that Zelina needs to work on her temper, but they will only figure that out once she really shows who she really is. 

“So, who is she going to marry?” I ask, curious as to who is the “lucky” guy.

“We haven’t decided that yet. I have spoken with the other kings, and I have learned that Prince Ayato of Inazuma will be visiting the Kingdom of Liyue in a few days. The King of Liyue has agreed to let Zelina into the realm during that time so she can get to know the kings better all in one area. Once Zelina gets a good idea of each prince, only then will she decide who it is she is marrying.”

“Just out of curiosity…what happens when she chooses her prince? What happens to the others?”

“What do you mean?” The king asked

“Suppose she chooses Prince Ayato from the Kingdom of Inazuma…what happens to the princes from Liyue? Would they not be heartbroken that she chose another man over them? Would that not lead to more conflicts between our kingdom and theirs?” I asked

The king's smile slowly faded away, quickly being replaced with a frown. His hands clasped together, tightening as he tried to come up with an answer.

“You don’t need to worry about that, dear. We have a plan…a good one at that. Trust me. By the time Zelina is finished with this plan, there will no longer be a war between any of the kingdoms.”

I gave him a questioning look, not sure how to feel with his answer. There was something behind that statement…something sinister…like he was hiding something.

And I am going to figure it out.

–

After the short meeting, I walked out of the room with even more concern than I had going in. Something wasn’t right. I could see it in the king's eyes as well as my sister's eyes. 

I walked through the halls, not paying an ounce of attention to my whereabouts. Suddenly, my body ran into something…or rather someone…bringing me back to reality. It was Constance with a few dishes in her hands…well at least they were in her hands before we bumped into each other. 

My eyes widened as I saw the plates slowly falling. My instincts kicked in quickly and I moved my hands just in time to catch them all before they fell and shattered on the ground. 

“Oh, thank you, Lady Y/n! Thank you!” She said with relief. I smiled as I handed her the plates back.

“Don’t worry about it. It was my fault…I should’ve been paying more attention to where I was going. Sorry about that.” I replied

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize Lady Y/n-”

“Constance, please stop calling me that. You know I hate that title.” I said, interrupting her.

“But I am required to do so. Failing to comply with the rules could get me in trouble.” She said, making me shake my head.

“Only if that person is a part of the royal family.”

“But are you not a part of the royal family? You are the king's daughter-” She asked, pushing up her glasses with her free hand as they were beginning to fall down her nose.

“No! The king is not my father, and he will never be my father! My father was killed-” I started, quickly shutting up as I realized I was raising my voice louder than expected.

I sighed for the umpteenth time today, calming myself down. She didn’t know…no one did…well except for Thoma and his family…and of course the king, my mother, and my sister.

“I am terribly sorry for raising my voice at you. I was out of line.” I said, feeling down all of a sudden.

“Lady Y/n…I am sorry if I have offended you. I thought-”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to be sorry.” I said, walking past her

“Lady Y/n! Is everything alright?” She asked as she watched me leave. I stopped in my tracks, tears threatening to fall down my face as memories of my father came flooding back to me

“Lady Y/n?”

“Everything is fine, Constance. You do not have to worry about me. It’s a long story anyways…just go back to what you were doing before…please.” I said, wiping a tear that slipped past my eye.

“Of course. Have a good day, Lady Y/n.” Constance said, turning back to where she came from. 

Just as I was about to go back outside, I remembered that I left my coat in the room I previously came out of. And by the looks of it, I am going to need it. The clouds were starting to rush in, signaling that there would be only a few more minutes left before the bright blue sky would be replaced by the rain. Not that I was complaining…I love the rain.

I turned on my heel, walking back to the room I was just in to grab my coat. However, just as I reached the door, I stopped moving as I heard voices behind the door. Voices that could only belong to the King himself and my sister.

“Now, you remember what to do when you get to Liyue.”

“Yes, father. Once I gain the trust of all the princes there, I will attack each of them individually, but carefully. My goal is to aim for Prince Tartaglia first as he is the easiest out of all of them to gain their trust. Then once I assess the other two, I will figure out which one is the next target. I assume it will be Prince Ayato…and finally Prince Zhongli. Then I will assassinate the two kings and take their crowns, allowing the Kingdom of Illyria to be the one and only kingdom left in the country.” She said

My hand covered my mouth as I tried to hide a gasp that escaped from my mouth. I knew it! I knew they were hiding the truth! What’s worse is that their plan could be accomplished. Don’t get me wrong, Zelina is a bitch…but she is a very strong bitch. She has the ability to manipulate darkness, which is something you don’t want to mess with. It was a gift from our mother as she passes down a special ability to each of her offspring to ensure her bloodline continues on. She did it with me as well. The thing is that my ability is the complete opposite of my sisters. I can use sound and convert it into light, doing whatever I so well please. It is a powerful ability that I do not use often…especially after that one incident. I ignored that memory however, trying to focus on the rest of the conversation between my father and my sister.

“‘Good. And you know what will happen if you fail?” He asked with a darker tone

“Y-Yes father. I will lose my crown and everything I own…”

“Including your life.” He finished. My eyes widened even more…if that was even possible.

How could he threaten his own daughter's life? What the hell is wrong with this guy? 

But I already knew the answer to my own question. Greed and pride is what is wrong with him. They are two things that are so great to him that they blind him from reality. They blind him from what's wrong and what's right, merging them together.

“Yes father. I understand…” She said with a fearful tone.

“Good. Now go. The boat will be arriving here tomorrow. You must get your things ready to go so you won’t be late.” He said, waving her off.

“Yes father…” She said, walking towards the door. That was my cue to get the hell out of there. But there was nowhere to hide! All there was, was a long hallway behind me. If Zelina opened the door now and saw me running away, she would know that I heard. 

“Looks like it's time to improvise…” I thought. Instead of hiding, I placed my hand back on the door handle and opened it up, seeing my sister right behind it. It made me jump a little as I didn’t expect her to be there so suddenly. 

She glared at me, trying to see if I had heard anything that just went on. I had to act naturally.

“Woah, what's with the face? I just needed to grab my jacket.” I said, pushing past her.

She stared at me with concern for a bit as she watched me grab my jacket off of the chair I left it on. 

“See? Left it right where I put it. Now can you stop looking at me like I’m some sort of horrendous creature you found on the street?” I said, walking past her and leaving the room.

She rolled her eyes, figuring that I didn’t hear anything, leaving the room as well.

Thankfully, I got out of the hallway before she could catch up to me. I opened up the doors to the outside and ran down the long stairs, rushing to go see Thoma and tell him everything that I just heard. 

Before I could make it out of the area, however, a voice called my name, making me come to an abrupt stop. I turned my head and saw Aether there, walking up towards me. Great, just great!

“I wanted to apologize for forcing you the way I did this morning. I didn't mean any ill will by it. I was just simply following the King's orders-”

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. Listen, I gotta go now. I need to something-”

“I just figured I should apologize because I regretted how I acted towards you, and I’m sorry-”

“Aether, it's fine! I forgive you. Now listen, I need to go. Now. I have something important to discuss with-”

“I’m glad you have forgiven me…but I still feel like I need to do something in order to fully show how sorry I am…hmmm.” He said, going off in thought. Oh, for the love of- I can’t deal with this right now!

While he was off in his own world, I quickly but quietly snuck off, getting as far away from him as I could. To be honest, I did feel a little bad leaving him like that, but this was far more important than some little apology.

“Ah, maybe we could go get something to eat! I’ll buy as my way of apologizing-hmm? Y/n? Where did she go?” Aether asked as he looked around for you. 

–

I successfully snuck out and could smell that delicious smell of fresh bread and cakes again. 

I followed it and saw Thoma handing a cake off to an older woman, thanking her for her purchase. I smiled and ran towards him, grabbing his arm. He quickly looked down and saw me, smiling as soon as he did.

“Ah, Lady Y/n, what seems to bring you-”

“Don’t even try that game with me again, mister. Now come on, I have something important to tell you!” I said with excitement.

“But Y/n, I’m working-AH!” He yelled as I pulled him into me, forcing him to run away from the town.

“Hey, you kids, get back here! How am I supposed to sell all this bread by myself?” Mr. Yoshiba yelled, waving his fist at us. 

“Sorry, Mr. Yoshiba! This is important! I’ll make it up to you, though! I promise!” I yelled back, holding Thoma’s hand in mine as we ran out of the town and into our secret hideout.

Thoma couldn’t help but blush a bit at the long-lasting contact, wishing it could be like that forever.

Once you two made it into the forest just outside of Illyria, you both sat down, panting.

“W-Why, did you need to bring me all the way out here, N/n?”

“Because I have some information that I don’t know what to do with. And I need someone's advice. Someone I can trust.” I said, looking up at him as we both sat down.

“Okay…” Thoma said with concern, not sure if was going to like what he was about to hear.

“Get ready, because it is going to blow. Your. Mind!” I said, getting comfortable on the ground.

“Here’s what happened…”

________________________________________________________

Taglist:?

[piromina]

Starting off the new year with some miraculous speculations!

I'm wondering what emotion Kagami was created out of, because I do think that she is one of the sentikids. Of course, we don't know if she was created by her mother (with that being how she went blind) or if she had a father once.

We know Felix and Adrien were created by jealousy and love. But what about Kagami? And Chloe and Zoe if they're also sentis?

I have a theory.

I think the emotions that the sentikids were created out of might have something to do with their eye colors (I say sentikids instead of sentimonsters because I'm referring to Adrien Felix and Kagami, and possibly Chloe and Zoe, and I dont know if the theory applies to all sentimonsters yet.)

Well, let's see here. Adrien was created out of love.

His eyes are green.

And a quick google search will tell you that green DOES REPRESENT LOVE!

And if youre wondering about Felix, because his eyes are also green, well, I dont think we even need to look it up to know that green represents jealousy.

So that leaves me wondering, what about Kagami? Her eyes are brown.

I dont know what brown represents off the top of my head, so I went to google it, and the results were things like loneliness and sadness. Maybe Kagami was created out of sadness? Maybe there was a Kagami Tsurugi before her? Who died? And she's the replacement? What if the Kagami before her was a SENTIMONSTER who got snapped away (or her amok got broken) at a young age? What if her father died creating the first Kagami, and her mother went blind creating the second? There are so many possibilities!

And loneliness would actually be a good fit. We see how Kagami is desperate for friends, and gets so heartbroken when they abandon her. Her mother could have created her out of sadness, while she was mourning the loss of her husband and daughter.

I think if Kagami did have a father, he died when she was very young. And if you're wondering why Kagami's father would die within just a few months, when Emelie and Colt lasted YEARS, well. By the time the peacock brooch got handed over to the Tsurugis, it had been used multiple times, possibly causing it to get more and more damaged along the way. First the Agrestes, then the Fathoms, and maybe even the Bourgeois and Lee families.

Speaking of which, it's time to get into Chloé and Zoé's backstories.

Both their eyes are blue, Zoe's a bit lighter of a shade.

Of course we know blue means sadness, but I don't think that fits either of these girls very well. Maybe the same situation I described with Kagami happened?

Or MAYBE, we can find some other meanings. Chloe's eyes are a bit darker of a shade of blue, and you know what that means? POWER! I can really see Audrey wanting a child for the power. But that does make me wonder who created Chloe, as both her parents are alive and well. I want to say Audrey hired someone to do it.

And Zoe? It must have been her father that created her. Possibly also for power, but light blue represents trust.

Maybe Audrey had some sort of affair going on with Andre, and Mr. Lee was mad when he found out about it. When he found out about all those LIES she fed him.

He used the peacock miraculous to create a daughter, one who was TRUTHFUL. He never lied to his daughter about anything, except the true way she was born. Eventually he gave up, not wanting to be a controlling figure, with this sickness overwhelming him, and sent her to boarding school, and maybe snuck the amok in her suitcase.

And now that Zoe had free will, you know what she did at her new school? That's right, LIED. As soon as she had free will, she faked a personality and kept the truth deep within, down in the very soles of those rainbow shoes.

Hey, maybe that's where the amok is. Maybe Zoe's amok is in one of those rainbow shoes she always wears, and it just so happens that it's not the shoe the akuma went in that one time with Sole Crusher.

Maybe, the shoes were some gift Audrey gave Mr. Lee when they were younger and a couple in high school or something. Maybe he saw it as one of the many lies she fed him, and, well, he really did love those shoes, so we wanted there to be at least SOME truth in them.

Also, maybe Nino and Chris are sentimonsters and that's why Nino's parents are missing.

[extra-v1rgin]

So this isn’t technically a genderbend? Hence the femish lol. Tomioka changes sex but I still use he/him pronouns and mostly refer to him as a man besides a few jokes here and there. So he goes from a male body to a female body but his gender remains the same. You don’t have to think too hard about it but I enjoyed writing this lol.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

“What’s wrong with you Tomioka-san?”

“H-huh? Can’t you tell? I thought it was fairly obvious.” His voice came out in a softer tone than usual, higher too. It made sense considering the circumstances.

“That’s not what I’m talking about! You’re acting so calm right now. Doesn’t being a woman bother you at all?”

“Can’t you cure the blood art? I felt confident in your abilities.”

“Of course I will. I’m just surprised you’re so nonchalant, most would be panicking in your situation.”

“I feel mostly the same I guess. Though I don’t enjoy how small I feel.” He demonstrates the point by kicking his feet, which can’t quite touch the ground. Though the examination table isn’t too high, Tomioka had to hop lightly to make it onto the cushioned seat. Annoyingly he still managed to gain a few inches on Shinobu.

She tries not to let her own irritated state show. “I don’t think that should be a problem. It’s not as if you’ll have to fight in this state.” While she talks the woman quickly draws a blood sample from Giyuu. “But I’ll have to do some testing. In cases of physical transformation the effects usually wear off on their own, but that doesn’t mean that the duration will necessarily be short. I can still figure out something to speed up this if we’re lucky.”

“Alright, will I stay here?”

“That’s probably best. You seems to be stable at the moment but it’ll be good to have you nearby should anything change.”

“Thank you for the hospitality.” With the formal statement Giyuu hops off the table and leaves the room to find his accommodations.

—-

He bothers her again the very next day. Shinobu’s sleep schedule isn’t exactly predictable, but he does knock on her door early in the morning. Kocho is miraculously awake, but dressed in her pajamas still. Her hair is undone. It barely brushes against her shoulders.

“My uniform doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Can’t you wear the linens provided?” It’s too early to be distracted by something so minuscule.

“I’d feel more comfortable in something familiar.”

Kocho opens her door further, allowing the (former) man in. “Such a difficult patient. My own will be too small on you, but I might have some spares in your size.” Shinobu lets Giyuu hover in the corner while she roots through her closet. Though Mitsuri insisted she liked the current uniform she owned, the younger woman kept spares should she ever change her mind. Tomioka isn’t as… well endowed, but their heights match up fine enough.

Right before she hands over the suit the woman pauses. “Wait, you’ll need undergarments too right? I’ll have one of the girls check the laundry.”

“My own fit fine.” It’s probably a lie to save the embarrassment of extending the visit. Shinobu is much less bothered by sensitive topics than the average person. She’s quick to bite back.

“Unless you’re dick grew back overnight I doubt that. You should accept the help you’re given.”

Giyuu’s face goes a beautiful shade of pink but he nods in defeat. He takes the set of clothing into his arms. “Can you just have them sent to my room?”

“Sure! I can tell you don’t wanna be here any longer.” His face can’t grow any redder but the embarrassment lingers.

“Thank you.” Shinobu wonders if being a woman has given him manners. She can’t recall the last time Giyuu has managed to hold a proper conversation. Though asking for a favor hardly counts it’s still progress compared to his usual state.

—-

Shinobu goes about the rest of her day normally. All the other patients have lower-level afflictions, a twitching nose or scrambled language. It’s easy to brew up an antidote for these sorts of side effects. They’re sad attempts at demon-blood arts, too weak to properly debilitate most slayers. These kinds of ailments are often cured within a day or two.

Transformations like Tomioka’s often take longer. Once Mitsuri grew a longer lizard-like tongue that took two weeks to get back to normal. The worst case was when Kyojuro grew a beard that couldn’t be cut, which lasted nearly a month.

So as soon as she finishes the work required as the head doctor Shinobu does some testing on the previously acquired blood sample.

Though she barely gets to mix up the first attempt at an antidote before Aoi is knocking at her door. It’s not Kocho for her to be interrupted, and she always treats her apprentice with kindness, but the action never gets less annoying.

“I’m sorry for barging in Shinobu-sama! But Tomioka-sama is requesting your help.”

Before speaking she wipes the negativity from her tone. “Help with what?”

“Well, um. Sh-he wouldn’t tell me, but he sounded very distressed, distressed for Tomioka-sama I mean. When I tried going in he said I shouldn’t bother.”

“Right, I’ll see to it.”

It’s not often Giyuu actually asks for her presence. His unique new state seems to have softened his worst qualities as a patient. Usually he’d have attempted to leave several times by now, and when that didn’t work he’d remain silent and solitary save for the checkups Shinobu insisted on. She couldn’t gage how desperate the situation would be if he had willingly requested her.

Making her way to the room she considered whether or not she should knock given the strange circumstances. Deciding to appeal to Giyuu in hopes he might continue with this helpful behavior she tapped against the door gently.

“Aoi-chan said you needed me, can I come in?”

“Yes.” His voice was high even considering the circumstances. “But don’t open the door too wide.” He attempted to stay nonchalant when adding the odd ending.

Curious she slides herself through an opening barely big enough to allow her in.

“I can’t seem to get it on.” The problem is immediately clear. Tomioka looks pretty, leaning back on the bed with a hand covering his chest. When she had given him the undergarments instructions had not been included. The bra was both too loose and too tight, handing oddly on his body. For what it’s worth the fabric does manage to cover the majority of his newfound breasts. That doesn’t cure his embarrassment however, a soft pink blush highlighting perfect cheekbones.

“Stand up, and turn around.”

Some of the buttons have been hooked into place, but they’re not aligned properly. Kocho undoes the clumsy work.

“Next time you back put it on backwards, do the buttons first, then flip it around and slide your arms through.” Her slim fingers work quickly as she helps right the back of his bra.

“Wait one second.” She pulls off the straps tight so they cling to his shoulders properly rather than having them slip off constantly. “Does that feel better?”

“It’s…tight.”

“Sorry, that’s just how it is. Now you know the horrors of womanhood.” Despite her light tone Tomioka nods solemnly.

“Thank you.” Shinobu takes it as a dismissal and leaves him to finish getting dressed on his own. Hopefully he doesn’t need anymore help getting dressed. Mostly because he’s grown and should be able to figure it out on his own but also because Shinobu can’t forget the slope of Giyuu’s breasts as they settled into the stiff cups.

Tomioka has always been pretty, but as a woman certain features have been softened in just the right ways to further compound his beauty. It’s bothersome for him to be so attractive yet have such a rough personality. If he wasn’t horribly obtuse there’d be a line of women chasing after him, Shinobu included.

But now isn’t the time to entertain thoughts like that (or imagine what Giyuu’s chest looked like bare, if his nipples matched the soft reddish hue of his lips) and she focuses on getting back to her actual duties.

The blood seems resistant to higher doses of wisteria. Shinobu can only add so much extract before it starts to do more harm than good. Still, putting him on a mix of wisteria, vitamins, and various other herbs will help strengthen the fight against whatever’s going on within his physiology. Sometimes demons can be weakened from exposure to other elements, but at that point it’s just a guessing game.

That’s a lot of different ways to say that she hasn’t figured out anything, but phrasing it so plainly just frustrates her. Even after years of studying it demon blood art often offers little answers. Annoyance runs its course through her veins until she’s doing more damage to her studies than good. She’s spent too much of the day pouring over texts that haven’t served her at all. The younger girls have left her alone which means too much time has slipped by without her noticing. It’s later than she realized (though Shinobu has never been able to keep proper track of time) and in the morning she’ll be tired and agitated. That’s not particularly rare for the woman at this point but it’s another step back on the promise that she’d try and take care of herself. (Kanae should’ve known better than to expect that from Shinobu. She’s always been self-destructive in one way or another.)

But Kocho is eager to abandon her pointless work and is able to move away from her desk with little difficulties. If she had found something worth looking into she would’ve stayed there all night. Her exhaustion isn’t what pulls her away. Shinobu moves through the motions of getting ready for bed, but when she finally lays down on her futon it’s clear sleep won’t come soon. She’d be happy to fall asleep if she could (and finally get rid of the bags under her eyes) but her brain has grown too used to functioning until it can’t anymore.

Staring up at the ceiling she fights with herself. The woman could try warm tea or simply drug herself but despite the fact that she can’t sleep her muscles still yearn to rest. The separation between her mind and body is a frustrating prison.

But she’s nothing if not a genius and there are still ways she can tire her head without getting up.

Shinobu loosens her robe until her front is exposed. It’s annoying to move under the sheets but the cold air is unwelcoming. So she lifts her knees to create a small tent of space and plunges her finger between her legs.

There’s not much fanfare in her actions. Kocho slides smooth fingers over her clit until she finds whatever motion will suit herself tonight. Letting her eyes slip close the woman falls into the pleasure that radiates from her core. She paints on hand over her breasts and hips while the other stays glued to her cunt. The two work in tandem to spark real pleasure within her.

It’s hard for her mind not to wander as her fingers dart down and then back up to spread wetness over her clit. With such attractive coworkers it’s an impossible task to not wonder about them. Especially with previous encounters feeding deeper into her imagination. She can remember Mitsuri’s large chest pressing up against her back, small pants accompanying their gentle movements. The first time she met Tengen’s wives everyone was pleasantly drunk, letting hands brush up against bodies. Uzui himself was annoying, but he was damn attractive and had good taste in women.

And of course she imagines Giyuu. She keeps the touches of awkwardness in his behavior, it’s part of the charm. He’d be so easy to tease, a pretty pink falling over his features.

The line between his male attributes and his current ones is quickly crossed. She’s already caught a glimpse at his chest. It’s easy to imagine that she’s undoing his bra instead of putting it on. His breasts would fit so perfectly into her hands. Tomioka would gasp and pant until she finally reached between her legs to grace the man’s newly formed cunt.

Images grow fuzzier. She doesn’t know if he’d be hairy down there (a mirror to her own pussy) or neatly trimmed or even completely bare.

She’d touch it either way, tease him by straying away from his clit to focus on the precious petals surrounding a molten core. Shinobu would dip her hand inside until she could lure out the wetness inside, spreading over-

Arching her back Kocho shakes as she comes undone. Her thighs burn as they stiffen and point outwards. The woman’s cunt clenches and pushes out more slick. She tries to keep most of it off her sheets, though they’re already soaked in her sweat. Shinobu should change them and sleep on something cleaner but instead she wipes her moist fingers on the blanket and turns over.

—-

In the morning Shinobu wakes up still nude. Her girls know not to barge into her room unprompted so she moves slowly while she works to get presentable. Any shame about her fantasies last night is buried underneath the fact that they are just fantasies. If the thoughts occasionally permeate her regular life they certainly don’t persuade her actual actions.

Outside everything functions as normal. The rest of the girl’s are well trained and are smart enough to disregard rules during a real emergency. Though by the way Aoi immediately rushes to her side not everything is running completely smoothly.

“Shinobu-sama I uh- I’m not sure how to say this but I found something in the laundry last night.”

“Was it dirty clothes?” The opportunity is too good to pass up and though her gentle tone downplays the corniness Aoi still rolls her eyes.

“There was blood on… on a pair of panties.” She’s whispers the last word, young enough to feel embarrassed by it.

“Menstrual blood?” Shinobu already knows the answer, Aoi wouldn’t bother her over something like that.

“It was too high up to be from that, unless someone really didn’t know what they were doing which-“ The girl’s face turns pink though she keeps her hard tone. “I think they might have been Tomioka-sama’s.” She whispers the last part again.

“Oh.” That does sound like something worth bothering her. “Well I’ll have a talk with him. Thank you for telling me Aoi-chan.”

She bows curtly and seems rather excited to remove herself from the situation. Shinobu feels for the poor girl but there’s a little humor in the situation too.

Kocho isn’t too worried, but considering that she doesn’t have any other pressing matters she decides to pay the man a visit. The woman pockets some menstrual products and a bit of disinfecting alcohol in case he really does need some sort of help. She hadn’t given him any sort of exam because of how out of sorts the man already was, but she assumes that his body has proper… equipment alongside the changes that were already clear.

She finds the man in his room still. With a light knock she’s granted entrance. Giyuu is totally oblivious to the reason for her arrival, shooting her a questioning look.

“How are you doing Tomioka-san?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you? Aoi-chan told me something very interesting.”

The man doesn’t respond to that. He’s still clueless to whatever she’s insinuating.

“She told me she found some blood on a pair of undergarments. Isn’t that interesting?”

In lieu of another answer he turns around to avoid the question. He stands with his back turned towards her, absolutely still. Shinobu is patient but as the minutes stretch onward she gives him a gentle prompt. “Were you going to tell me anything or do you just enjoy wasting my time?” She takes a step back to tease a departure.

“I cut myself.”

“And you decided it’d be best to stay silent about it?”

“It was a very small cut.”

Kocho doesn’t allow him to get ahead of her. “Considering your condition you should disclose any injuries, especially when you take in account the location. Most people don’t go around slicing such delicate areas.”

“I was trying to shave.” Clearly he admitted it thinking he was proving the woman wrong, but now all she can think about is the fact that he shaves regularly. She tucks the thought away, but it’ll make an appearance the next time she can’t sleep and needs entertainment.

Shinobu isn’t surprised that he’d brush something like this to the side. He’d barely get treatment if he was sliced through. “Of course a pretty boy like you would care about something like that at a time like this. Why don’t you show me and I can disinfect it for you.”

“It grew hair when I- You aren’t being very professional right now.” He doesn’t seem too angry but rather annoyed.

“Sorry! You should be fine yes but, it might be good to take a closer look considering the unusual circumstances.” The suggestion feels obvious but Giyuu is caught off guard by what she is technically suggesting.

Still she’s seen him in all sorts of conditions so eventually after Shinobu makes it clear she’s not leaving the man slowly pulls down his pants. He looks ridiculous with the fabric pooled around his ankles. Much slower he undoes the bottom few buttons of his shirt before, finally, taking off the underwear given to him.

And it’s true that the cut isn’t particularly large or nasty, but if he were to transform back soon Shinobu isn’t entirely sure where it would end up. “Let me disinfect it and we can be done with this.” She motions towards the bed and waits for Giyuu to sit.

Kocho tries really hard to keep her mind focused on the task at hand but as she kneels between Tomioka’s legs all she can think about is that she’s kneeling between his fucking legs, pussy spread right before her. Keeping her eyes above the bush of black curls she lightly pushes the cut with her finger. It’s a clean cut, made from a razor if Giyuu really did cut himself shaving.

The man hisses at the pressure against the injury. Though his noises get only louder when she swipes alcohol over the wound.

“Sorry, I can’t do much to help with the pain. It’s a rather large cut. Can you still feel any pain when I press over here?”

This time she moves upwards. He lets out a gruff noise that’s probably meant to be affirmation. She dances around the wound seeing how far the pain goes. For a bit Shinobu moves left and right and upwards. After she’s measured the distance in nearly every direction her fingers of course slip down. They feel over rough hair, warm skin buried underneath. “Can you still feel any pain down here?”

Tomioka is looking down at Shinobu (though he still avoids eye-contact) with a touch of shame. “Just a bit.” His words are very quiet now.

It’s dangerous to move much lower but she does anyways. Pale skin turns pink as it curves downwards. If she followed the bend she’d be welcomed to the feeling of hot slippery skin.

“Here?” She looks up into the man’s eyes.

“I-I’m not sure.” Tomioka’s voice grows even higher, it’s probably an octave or two above his usual tone.

Shinobu doesn’t pull away, but doesn’t drift lower quite yet. “Should I keep checking?” If he says no then this memory can go with all the other embarrassing moments (like when she caught Uzui and one of his wives doing very inappropriate things on one of the hospital beds) and she’ll draw a proper line between doctor and patient.

But Giyuu doesn’t say no, he nods gently. Without exposing her eagerness she suavely inches down towards his newly formed clit. It’s large, already visible beneath the hood. She wonders if that somehow translates to an above average dick or just means that this is what a dick-turned-clit would look like.

“Does it hurt here?” Kocho jabs it in just the right way that she knows she’s following the trail of nerves upwards. The level of stimulation goes up exponentially, so fast that Giyuu can’t even cover his mouth before a loud moan rips from his mouth. It’s high and melodic and definitely noisy enough that a passer-by might’ve heard (if the whole estate already hasn’t). Pulling back for only a brief moment the woman gives him quick instructions to cover his mouth and doesn’t even wait for a response before her fingers are moving again.

This time Shinobu takes it slower. She rubs Giyuu’s clit in gentle circles until the man is curving over her head. The hand that’s not covering his mouth slips down to dig into her hair. It’s not controlling or demanding but a quiet plea for merch. Shinobu has none.

Tomioka’s hot and hard clit has more nerve endings in it than his entire dick. It’s likely that he’s never felt this amount of stimulation before. Kocho can bring more pleasure to him with the tips of her fingers compared to what an entire body might usually do. The rush of power accompanies a rush of blood until her own cunt is just as wet as Tomioka’s. She was trying to keep some level of coolness but her desperation might even outweigh the man’s.

“Lay down for me?” When he scoots to spread across the bed properly she takes the moment to shed her haori and start the top buttons of her uniform. Kocho’s never been patient though and before she can finish she’s crawling on top of Giyuu.

Now she focuses on his face. It’s mostly the same, maybe his eyelashes are shorter and maybe his nose curves a little more but the changes are negligible. What she really looks at is his red lips and rosy skin. The man barely makes eye contact in regular situations but now he doesn’t even blink as he looks up at her.

“Can I kiss you?” Shinobu is first to break their standoff. She cups his chin and resists moving forward until she has a proper answer despite how alluring he is.

Though it seems like Giyuu’s resolve has weakened too as he tugs her forward. His lips move softly with clumsy movements exactly like she’s imagined on a million lonely nights. Her own devour as tongue and teeth collide with his gentle motions.

“You’re beautiful.” She doesn’t even know if Tomioka can hear the words through skin and muffled moans. To be sure the woman shows her appreciation in other ways. Her hands grab at his covered chest and toned stomach and soft hips. Shinobu presses their bodies together like stars colliding. She’s about to swallow him in a black hole.

Finally after a few minutes of kissing and breathing and more kissing she’s satisfied. Not for the whole night, but enough to negotiate this properly.

It’s hard to ignore the way Giyuu looks though. He’s panting with wet lips that are parted just the tiniest amount. Shinobu could slip her finger in-between and-

Asking about this, that’s what she was doing. “Can I keep touching you? All of you?”

“Sure.” Even through the cloud of lust Shinobu can tell he sounds off.

“Are you?” Her hands settle gently on his hips. They don’t dig into the skin, just cradle the soft outline of curves.

Giyuu looks embarrassed, not in the way he looked embarassed when Kocho was rubbing his cunt but embarassed in a sad way that makes her feel guilty for even looking at him.

She forgets about sex for a moment and gives him a real kiss. There’s no hunger in this one though desire still rolls within her gut. “We don’t have to anything. I-I shouldn’t even have suggested it. That was inappropriate of me.”

The man’s hands curl around her waist. She can feel them shaking. “Do you just want me because of this body?” The sounds fall sweetly from his mouth despite the harsh innards.

“No! I wouldn’t do this with just anyone. Though I do admit your recent transformation may have… prompted me.”

Tomioka huffs like somethings been confirmed but Kocho isn’t so easily silenced. “It’s not like I’ve had an opportunity like this before either. I can’t imagine what sort of situation you’d let me fondle you in other than this one.” The words sound like excuses but it’s the truth. Giyuu knows it too so he relaxes into the sheets.

“I would’ve let you if you had asked earlier.” Even coming out of his mouth he knows that there’s no time or place she could’ve, would’ve, asked other than right now.

“Hmm well next time I’ll be sure to read your mind.” It’s full of her usual teasing tone as her hands sink deeper into his skin.

Tomioka scoffs but it comes out quiet.

“Now, while I’ve already violated all kinds of moral rules can we keep this going?”

The man has no choice but to agree because despite his reservations he wants this just as badly.

This time a perfect balance between soft and rough is found. Shinobu’s lips still move like they can devour his skin but her focus is drawn over his whole body, dampening the earlier ferocity.

The woman’s hands are a lot less nervous than Giyuu’s. They dance over his hips and chest and then back down to cup his cunt and feel the heat radiating from it.

All the sensations are different. Kocho’s hands over his core feel nice but don’t inspire immediate arousal the way they would if someone skimmed their fingers over his cock. Everything feels drawn out, his breasts and collarbones and thighs soaking in the pleasure alongside his fragile center.

Then she skims over his clit again, rubs a slow circle and pushes her fingers upwards, and he lets out another lewd noise. All the sensations focus on a single spot until she moves away and they spread back out to the rest of his body.

“You need to be quieter.” Shinobu’s lips move over his neck. “Do you need help with that?” He can’t imagine what she’s implying and isn’t sure if he should be aroused or frightened (and aroused).

“Maybe.” Giyuu tries to make it sound sexy rather than unsure. It’s not clear if he succeeds.

She laughs which is maybe a sign that failed but regardless her tone remains the same. “Why don’t you do some work now then? It’s rude to leave me to do everything myself.”

“Sorry.” It’s an empty apology to buy time while Tomioka considers the fact that he doesn’t know how this kind of “work” works. His hands skate over her hips and up to her shirt that’s still partially buttoned. It’s a weak move but one that can’t be wrong.

Still he undoes it easily and within a few seconds is met with the slope of her neck as it morphs into her chest. Even though she wears a bra the sight is still beautiful.

So without thinking he moves below the padding, pushed open by gravity, and cups her chest. It’s a warm weight in his hands and Shinobu makes a pleased noise that urges him onwards.

He gropes the skin and grinds his palm over her nipple. The woman gives another affirming hum though it seems like his actions aren’t particularly arousing.

Instead he guides her back upwards so they can sit on even ground. This way he can move lips over her neck and collarbones without straining. As an added bonus they can shrug off unwanted bits of clothes.

When he moves further downwards however he is met once more with the barrier of Kocho’s bra. Giyuu can’t slip his lips beneath the padding the same way his hands could and is faced with the daunting task of undoing her bra.

His hands slip around her back until they find the claspes that keep the whole thing stuck together. It takes several clumsy attempts to undo the wiring but thankfully he doesn’t need any help.

When he is finally met with the sight of her breasts there’s an awkward moment where he just stares. Giyuu has spent plenty of time observing his own breasts but there’s more appeal in looking at someone else’s. He cups them again, feels the soft weight, and then moves forward with his lips. The man tests out her reaction when he sucks or kisses or even skims teeth gently over her flesh. When he finally makes it to a hard pink nipple he opens his mouth wide and drags his tongue over the area. He’s finally gifted with a true moan as she leans into the action.

Pleased, Tomioka repeats the motion several times, alternating between licking and sucking. Shinobu is probably making as much noise as he was earlier but he’s much less inclined to tell her to be quiet. Instead his actions grow a bit bolder. His hands, which were previously lying gently against her hips, move to grope her ass. Though he has a desire to explore her cunt in turn, he has no idea where to even begin there. So for now he settles for feeling the weight of her body as her hips subtly sway.

Finally he pulls himself away from Shinobu’s breasts, which are now covered in spit and hickies. It’s attractive enough that he wants to dive right back in, but for now he finds some restraint in order to look towards her face.

The woman has pink cheeks and her eyes are shut in either embarrassment or from the lingering pleasure. When she feels the stimulation stop for more than a few moments she’s forced to meet Tomioka’s gaze.

“What do I do now?” There’s no point in hiding his uncertainty.

“Hm?” Kocho is caught off guard by such a direct question. “Well there’s lots of ways to do this though I’m sure you’re not aware of them. But you seem to be very good with your mouth.” With that she unbuttons her pants and starts to slide them off. After a pointed look Giyuu shimmies his own uniform the rest of the way off.

They face each other, both nude in their entirety. Giyuu wishes he had a way to do this more smoothly but there’s not any excuse that could justify how his eyes immediately point to her uncovered cunt.

There’s a wild bush of hair in front, mostly black with tinges of purple further down. The shocking color makes him briefly consider what the rest of the hashira with their vibrant hair might look like, but he can’t stay distracted for long when Shinobu is pushing him back and swinging her hips over his.

For a moment they return to gentle kissing and groping. Giyuu relaxes in the sheets as his nudity becomes irrelevant. Most of the feelings are the same except for her bare breasts pushing against his own. The weight of them is less obvious when he lays back like his.

But eventually Shinobu gets rough again as her hands drag over his skin. She draws her mouth back, lines of spit connecting them. “Are you ready?” Tomioka doesn’t know what he should be ready for, but he nods anyways.

In a moment she spins around and plants her thighs on the sides of his head. Now he can stare all her likes because her pussy is right below his eyes. It’s pink and shiny with slick. When he breathes heavily the muscles contract and twitch right above his mouth.

After a second of silence and stillness Giyuu realizes he’s probably supposed to be doing something. Bringing his hands back to her waist he drags her cunt to his lips. He repeats some of the same motions he tried on her breasts earlier. The kitten licks and gentle sucking draw out more moans, but eventually he figures out how to plunge his tongue inside of her which brings out real noises. More than that there’s the wet sounds of her pussy moving against his face. It’s more erotic than even the sight of her pink insides so close to him.

Tomioka is happy to eat the woman out even receiving no stimulation of his own. In fact he’s almost surprised when she shifts to mirror his position. Almost tenderly the woman presses a kiss to the small cut on his pelvis. From there she follows the same path as earlier. Though this time she has to pry his legs apart to insert her fingers back inside his cunt. It’s a lot harder to keep his pace even when he’s constantly interrupted by his own moans, but he manages to stay consistent with his motions at least.

It gives him a good way too to figure out what else he can do to pleasure her. Getting a hand in the right spot is difficult but he locates her clit and figures out how to rub in a way that breaks the woman’s focus.

From then it becomes almost a game. He’ll push her further into pleasure until she finds some new way to tease him and his pace is interrupted with several moans. Then Giyuu moves in with more vigor until she is interrupted in turn.

Of course, unused to this sort of pleasure, Tomioka cracks first. He practically lunges into Shinobu as his back curls.

Lengthening his orgasm the woman continues to spread her fingers inside her and swirl her tongue around his clit. Right before he can relax she wraps her lips around the engorged bud and sucks hard. It tumbles over from to pleasure to overstimulation and Tomioka cries out beautifully until she finally releases him.

He flops down for a second to gather his senses. The man’s whole body has gone limp as all his muscles relax.

Thankfully Kocho gives him a few minutes to breathe and rest before she sits up and more of her weight shifts to Giyuu’s face. He’s exhausted but owes the woman (though he’d do this either way). It’s much easier to stimulate her when she can rock her hips along with his movements.

Given the fact that her thighs bump into his shoulders and partially pin him down it’s hard to move his arm properly but he does find a way to move it upwards and sneak a few fingers into her cunt. While she fucks herself on them his tongue is free to focus elsewhere. He doesn’t have many tricks or knowledge that can give her as good of an orgasm as he got but Shinobu’s own excitement might make up for that as her pussy constantly leaks. There’s virtually no friction in their movements between that and the sweat.

Tomioka needs a little edge to bring her all the way to the end though and while he might be killed for this he lets his teeth grab at her clit. He doesn’t bite, just holds the bead in place while his tongue laps at it. Internally he prepares to be smacked or something worse but thankfully he succeeds in this mission and Kocho suffocates him while her cunt pulses around his fingers. He happily drowns in her, an object until she’s satisfied.

When she finally relaxes and moves to the side Giyuu doesn’t release his hold on her. His arms tie themselves around her waist as he drags her back towards him. He claims his place, face buried in the softness of her stomach. Kocho’s hands are quick to start combing through his hair. Giyuu’s bangs are stuck in awkward positions from the earlier pressure against them.

“You were awfully good at that. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Her tone at first is so honest it’s hard to tell if she’s joking or not. The soft kiss she places on his head afterwards only confuses him more.

“I haven’t.” He pulls back to look her in the eyes. “You have though?” Shinobu seemed awfully confident in her actions earlier.

“Ah well-“ She goes bright red. It’s maybe the most embarrassed she’s been throughout all of this. “Just a little.”

Tomioka is curious and while he’s socially inept enough to have asked the first question he does know not to ask the others on his mind. The silence lingers for a second though until he can think of something else to say.

“Well you were very good too. It was different than how I thought it’d be…” He mumbles the last bit.

“Were you thinking about this?” Again it’s just a gentle poke but Tomioka freezes like he’s been caught. It’s so obvious she can’t help but laugh. She bends down to press another kiss to his head. “I’ll pry those thoughts out of you one day.” Maybe when she shares her own late night fantasies (maybe if she gets drunk enough).

Instead of responding he holds Shinobu closer, pulling her down so he can nestle his head in her shoulder. His sigh is maybe too heavy, with a taste of that familiar annoyance, but with their bodies intertwined there’s no room for true animosity.

It’s only midday so really they don’t have time to nap. Any moment a new patient will come in or the silence will dare Aoi to wander towards their room just to check in (Shinobu regrets having such attentive aides). They pretend for a few moments though. Kocho pets Tomioka’s head and he breathes deeply into her skin. The woman even lets her eyes slip shut for a minute or two. Most nights she barely gets sleep at all, she can’t remember ever having taken a nap once her life as a slayer started. It’s a slippery slope and when her eyes are harder to open than they are to close she knows it’s time to get up.

With a heavy groan she pushes herself upwards. Tomioka received a private suite given his condition which means Shinobu can clean herself before returning to her duties. When she slides off the bed long hands trail after her. “Are you leaving?”

“It’s barely past noon.”

He looks towards the sun streaming through the slats of the window. “Oh.”

She huffs. “You can join me if you’d like. I don’t expect you to stay nude in bed all day.”

That draws a very soft smile from Giyuu. He trails after her, hands gravitating back towards her body. Meeting him halfway she pulls his arms around her middle. Kissing his fingers she tastes her own spend and lets her tongue dive between the digits. They pause the journey for the lewd display. Tomioka watches from over her shoulder, rocking gently against the woman’s back. “Can we go back to bed?” He already knows the answer.

“No… but a bath might be good. I probably don’t smell good. Perfume can only be used so many times before the stink just has to be washed off.” Perfume doesn’t really cover the smell at all but when she hasn’t showered for days or weeks it’s better than nothing. Tomioka nods dumbly and so Shinobu tries again. “You can join me if you’d like. It’ll save water.”

She watches the realization paint over the confusion. It’s so obvious that it draws a smile from her own lips. “Okay.” The answer isn’t very elegant but she can’t expect much else.

[taviokapudding]

Miraculous Ladybug depicted the baby emo/goth/punk experience accurately

Only 5% of baby emos/goths/punks pre-2015 looked good; everyone else didn't because they were kiddos at the time or couldn't fully commit for financial/social reasons as adults

I look at Marinette in her lil emo pigtails and see myself in 2007 in middle school doing the same shit with clip on hair extensions and side parted bangs

And Chat Noir is giving Jack Septiceye x Dan Howell tbh, it's terrible but I remember that shade of green hair being popular.

I love how horrendously yet awfully accurate it is to being an alt-dressing middle schooler. Also idk if it's explicitly goth, emo, or punk which is also very spot on to the baby's first time dressing alternative- you may modify your appearance and get accessories but still wear some of your old clothes as you figure out whar sub genre of alt you like the most

I keep seeing people assume some of the color combos are possibly bad design or animation errors and no, I remember pre-2015 tumblr, it's pretty accurate.

[smudgingpumpkins]

11.11.2023

Morchella

-Commonly known as the Morel mushroom-

Where: Worldwide, predominately in the Northern Hemisphere

Grows on the ground near dead or dying ash, elm, oak, aspen, and pine trees. Morels are more likely to grow in recently burned or disturbed areas.

When: March-May

This picture was taken by my friend Matt during his work trip around Patagonia, freshly picked a bit early for its season.

Morels are quite the culinary delicacy. I have never prepared wild ones on my own, so I am quite jealous that Matt and his coworkers got to enjoy them! (They prepared it on the pizza, which sounds nice but Matt reports that it may have muddled the morels' true flavor).

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Appearance:

Morels' caps are rounded and pointed, looking like a smushed honeycomb (ridges and deep pits). They can grow up to anywhere between 5-10 cm in height (or even bigger or smaller depending upon the exact species), and 1-3 cm in thickness.

Morel caps can be greyish, tan, or various shades of brown and the stems are an off-white or creamy color.

Taste:

Morels have an earthy, nutty, delicious umami flavor.

They are great to consume alone, either dried or freshly cooked, but of course, morels pair well with many dishes (especially, hearty grain meals): creamy grits, pastas, and rice! Spring vegetables such as asparagus, peas, and carrots complement the morel mushroom very well.

You should ALWAYS cook wild mushrooms for the safest outcome, even if you are sure the mushrooms you foraged are safe to eat.

This mushroom contains high amounts of vitamins D and B, and is rich in iron and manganese!

Medicinal Use:

Morel mushrooms have been utilized for centuries for all sorts of purposes across the globe. It has been spiritually interpreted as representing prosperity, abundance, and fertility . . . perhaps alluding to how morels grow in bountiful clusters within damaged or disturbed areas, which may appear to be miraculous.

Morchella contains some of the highest amounts of vitamin D out of any mushroom, which is great for healthy bone growth and a sturdy immune system. Research also shows there to be antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties--attributed to polysaccharides, phenolic compounds, tocopherols, and ascorbic acid--which are linked to reducing the risks of developing cancer cells, and heart and liver diseases.

Of course, these mushrooms do not substitute medical attention and prescriptions. Further research is needed, and these studies show that Morchella helps with acting as a possible preventative measure for health risks--it is not a cure.

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**False morels may be mistaken as true morels. The former may contain a toxin called monomethyl hydrazine, which causes vomiting, vertigo, and potentially death.

**False morels include: Verpa bohemica (Wrinkled Thimblecap), Gryomitra esculenta (Conifer False Morel), Helvella vespertina (Elfin Saddle), among others in these genera.

Figuring out the difference between true and false morels can be difficult. True morals are hollow on the inside, and uniformly have ridges and pits all over its cap. Typically, true morel caps are longer than the stem. False morel caps tend to look more "squished," be shorter, and have more lobed/wavy ridges. They are not hollow, being filled with tissues or fibers.

Here is a handy chart created by the Mushroom Appreciation website:

[disorganizedkitten]

These Hopeless, Helpless, Miraculous-Wielding Romantics Chapter 2

Miraculous Ladybug | 2018 | 4,055 | Ao3 | Masterlist | Prev | Next

“I just need to ask Mlle. Bustier something, I’ll catch up!” Marinette waved Alya to go ahead with Nino and Adrien when the bell rung.

Normally she’d ask Alya for advice on this, but she was A. going to be giving a short lecture about this to Alya in about six hours, and B. not going to give Alya the satisfaction of knowing her lack of stuttering around Adrien was her feelings starting to switch. And if not Alya, she would normally ask her parents, but they were seriously, seriously, too extreme shippers. They would probably figure out she was Ladybug if she came to them with this. And if not any of them, she’d ask Tikki. And Tikki, well, Tikki had said to ask Mlle. Bustier.

“What can I help you with?”

“You’re good at love stuff, right?”

Mlle. Bustier smiled, “I’m not Cupid, but I can give advice. What’s pulling your heartstrings Marinette?”

Marinette pursed her lips. How much should she actually tell Mlle. Bustier? “So there might be a boy, and I might like him, and he might like me too, but my friends might also be being really pushy about starting an actual relationship, and I don’t think I’m ready for that, so I might be trying to distract them while getting his opinions on relationship stuff without him knowing either, and I’m not exactly sure how to do that,” She rushed out eventually. She supposed that was one way to put her situation.

Mlle. Bustier had to think for a moment, and it made Marinette feel a little better knowing that her teacher stopped to think about the problem before giving advice, instead of spouting off some generic answer.

“Well, what do you normally do to let someone know you value them?”

“I make them something,” Marinette didn’t even have to think about the answer, it was just there. It was just what she did.

“Why not talk about that? Giving gifts is a good way to let them know you care, especially something homemade like you do. But you don’t only give those to romantic interests, correct?”

“No.”

“Do you think making him something would be a good way to let him know you like him without being too obvious?”

“It might be. But if I’m talking about it, what if it gives him the wrong idea? Or maybe the right idea, but-” Marinette started waving her hands erratically, activating ‘worse case scenario’™ mode.

Mlle. Bustier patiently waited for Marinette to finish her freakout, as though she knew this was normal for Marinette. She probably did after so long of being her teacher.

Mlle. Bustier had just opened her mouth to reply when a crash sounded from outside. Screams followed within three seconds, and both girls rushed to the window.

“Oh come on!” Marinette hissed, her hand migrating towards her purse without thinking. The courtyard was starting to fill with smoke, but she could see a small Akuma with a brightly colored bodysuit in multiple colors running around, throwing, were those juices? Paint? Sauces? Something.

Mlle. Bustier pursed her lips, worry creasing her face. Marinette glanced up, unsure how she was going to get out to help. Maybe wait until another wall got smashed and then run?

“Hey! Paintballs should be kept in designated areas! My jacket is not one of them!” the outraged shout filtered through the glass. Probably Chloe. She was getting better, but she still needed some help on priorities and personality. The Akuma yelled something back, but Marinette couldn’t make it out over the crash from another attack.

“I’m no designer, but I have to agree with Chloe here. That shade of pink, with her shade of yellow? Almost as bad as your outfit!” Yep, Chloe. And Chat was there too! But probably on his own, and Marinette didn’t like that thought. She needed an escape route, and fast.

“You should get out there soon Marinette.”

Marinette turned to Mlle. Bustier, surprised. “I have no idea what you mean?” Marinette flinched as another crash interrupted the lie. Of course, with a Miraculous out there, the Akuma was getting more violent.

Mlle. Bustier’s hand landed on her shoulder, gentle but firm. “Yes you do. Chat Noir needs his Ladybug, just, please be careful.”

Marinette nodded, eyes wide. When had Mlle. Bustier figured it out? Tikki shot out of Marinette’s purse, flying up to Mlle. Bustier’s face. The teacher jumped, but didn’t yell. “I’ll keep her safe, but you have to too.”

“No one else knows, nor will they,” Mlle. Bustier assured the little being. Tikki nodded, then turned to Marinette.

“Marinette, she’s right. She already knows, we can just go.”

“Okay,” Marinette breathed, still slightly out of it. Another crash snapped her back to reality though. “Tikki, Spots on!”

*****

Adrien was not happy with Hawkmoth. Well, he never was, but he always was extra mad when Hawkmoth akumatized a child.

Someone had insulted the kid’s finger painting, a finger painting, which he was apparently really proud of, and from what Adrien could gather while fighting, the deal was that the kid could destroy all other artists’ works, -starting with teen artists, because it was a teen who did the insulting,- and then his paintings would be the best in the world.

Chat Noir did not enjoy that fight. Eventually Ladybug had to signal for Queen B’s help, just so they could defeat him, and then the poor child had started freaking out, being in an unknown place with strangers. The kid was only three, four at most!

They had gotten him home, but Chat Noir was still stewing hours later, waiting for Ladybug, Queen B and Rena Rouge.

“Can I shove his broach down his throat when we meet him?” Queen B’s voice said from behind him.

“We have to give it back to the Guardian, so I don’t think so. He is going to pay for terrorizing Paris though,” Ladybug added, plopping down beside Chat, her face dark.

“Spots, are we still going to do the Winging lesson? I need a distraction if I’m not allowed to hurt him.” Queen B settled on Chat’s other side, examining her suited fingernails.

“I’m just glad we have the Miracle cure. Otherwise you might be fighting Chloe for first person to get revenge on Hawkmoth,” Rena guessed, joining her teammates.

Ladybug snorted and Queen B scowled. “Do not remind me of that injustice! My eyes are still traumatized!”

“Yeah, his color coordination could have used some help. The whole school would have a lot of work on their hands if we didn’t have the cure. I did see his normal art pieces though, and he’s really good for being three,” Ladybug agreed. “And Queen B, just look up the last fashion week’s photos. Those should help.”

“I’ll try it.”

“He’s like a mini Nathaniel,” Rena interrupted, frowning. “Hawkmoth shouldn’t be able to turn gifts like that into a bad thing.”

“Agreed,” Chat said, whipping his tail unhappily.

“Same.”

“One of these times it’ll backfire, and he’ll get his comeuppance,” Ladybug assured them, pulling out her yo-yo and swinging it up and down like a normal yo-yo. “He better.”

They sat in silence for a little while, and Ladybug even laid her head on his shoulder after putting her yo-yo away! Although that was probably just because she was tired. It was a really late patrol tonight.

Eventually Chat couldn’t stand the silence anymore. He needed something to think about other than what punishment they should give Hawkmoth. He had started thinking of something else to talk about when Queen B beat him too it.

“Hey Rena?”

“What’s up Queenie?”

“When you were talking about that kid’s artistic talent, you called it a gift. Why?”

Ladybug sat straight up at that comment, turning towards Rena and Queen B. Chat’s shoulder felt oddly light without her weight, even if he didn’t notice much weight being put on it. Maybe he just missed the contact?

“What? Oh. It’s just a synonym that’s used, but it means that someone’s a natural at something. I guess at that young of an age, it doesn’t count as a talent because he hasn’t had enough time to develop it? It felt like the right thing to say.”

Queen B hummed, and being so close to her Chat could tell she had practically buzzed. The Bee miraculous must give attributes like his does.

“That’s a really nice way to think about it Rena,” Chat said into the void. He wondered what his gifts had been, or if everything had been programmed into him.

“Why don’t we do that tonight?” Ladybug offered, her voice soft.

“Do what?” Rena asked, leaning forward so she could see Ladybug over the other two.

“Point out what we see as each others’ gifts or talents.”

“Sure!”

“Why not?” Queen B shrugged, leaning back. She muttered something after that, and although Chat didn’t catch all of it, it sounded like ‘a lot to make up for, especially-’

“I’m up for that,” he agreed, deciding to leave Queen B to her bee stuff. She had been acting a little weird here and there recently.

“Okay. Who wants to go first?”

“I can,” Queen B volunteered, before he or Rena could open their mouths. “Ladybug, a gift I can always see with you is your kindness. Even when someone does more bad than good, you point out the good and help them stay on the right path. Chat Noir, one of yours if definitely your perseverance. If you didn’t keep trying, and keep Ladybug going, I don’t even know where we’d be. Rena, yours is your optimism. You keep going along with us, even when we seem crazy, and your smiley attitude is contagious.” Chat could feel Rena’s smile, even as far away from her as he was. He felt really happy about this plan. His father often forgot to tell him when he did well, so hearing such things from his friends lifted his spirits immensely.

“Thank you Queenie! Can I go next?” Rena asked, the ‘smiley attitude’ Queen B had mentioned shining out.

“Any objects Chat?”

“Nope. Go ahead Rena,” Chat wanted to thank Queen B too, but he also didn’t want to interrupt the flow of things.

“Alright. So going down the line, Ladybug, one of your gifts is your leadership skills. It takes a lot to corral us into a working system sometimes, but you find a way. And you use what you’ve got when you do. It kinda reminds me of my best friend really,” Chat was sure he felt Ladybug stiffen at that. He was probably right about them being civilian best friends. He focused back on Rena’s words before he could keep going down that rabbit hole though. “-Makes being on the team and working in tandem so much easier. Queenie, yours is your attitude as well. It’s almost a mix between no nonsense and total drama, and it makes everything so much more interesting when we’re hanging out.”

Queen B didn’t say anything, and neither did Chat. He almost opened his mouth when Ladybug spoke up instead. “Thank you Rena. That’s high praise for all of us.”

Chat nodded fervently, glad Ladybug could turn his feelings into words when he couldn’t. Queen B nodded beside him, and for a moment he thought he heard her sniffle.

“Agreed,” Chat said, when Queen B still hadn’t said anything.

“Can I go next?”

Ladybug hoped her teammates couldn’t hear the break in her voice as she asked. Even she wasn’t sure if it was from nervousness or embarrassment.

“Go ahead LB,” Chat offered, half-shrugging. She was glad he let her. She was a little scared of what he would say on his turn. It’d be nice, of course, but if he went first, she might die of embarrassment before she went herself. When had her minor, backseat crush on him become so major?

Marinette, because she was still Marinette under the suit, took a deep breath before she started. She couldn’t say this wrong. Ladybug started with Rena Rouge, going down the line the opposite way her teammates had.

“Alright, Rena, one of your gifts is definitely trustworthiness. You yearn for truth, but can tell when it needs omitted. That’s a powerful asset here,” She hoped Alya understood how important it was to Marinette that she could be counted on for such. Without Alya, Marinette and Ladybug wouldn’t be the them of today.

“Queen B, one of yours is your yearning to get better. You want to be the best, and although sometimes your means in trying to achieve that aren’t, agreeing to work towards it is a good show of character,” Ladybug wasn’t talking to Queen B either. Just like with Rena, she was talking to the civilian under the mask. It was Chloe who needed to know this, not Queen B.

That left Chat. There was a lot she needed to say, but she couldn’t pour it all out here. The wrong circumstances, the wrong emotions in the air, the wrong people there. She wanted to tell him when it was just the two of them. So she started with what she had always known, always seen in him, even from day one. Way before she starting crushing and noticing every little thing.

“Chat, one of yours is how trusting and encouraging you are. Even from the start, when neither of us knew what we were doing, you trusted me to figure it out, even after I let the Akuma get away. You kept me fighting through that fight, and every one after that. Even now, when we have a better hold on things, and have Queen B and Rena to help-”

A flash of light and a roar from below them cut her off. Ladybug scowled down, yanking her yo-yo off her hip and standing. This was why they patrolled, honestly. At least they could get it over with quickly.

“Looks like we’ll be back. Ready to kick some butt M’lady?” Chat stood up beside her, his baton out quickly enough.

“Yep. If it’s another kid though, Hawkmoth is getting it.” She jumped off the roof, half thankful she had been cut off, and half upset. Why were her emotions being so weird?

Queen B watched as Ladybug and Chat started to fight the Akuma. She couldn’t fully make out the colors or design of the suit, but if she had to guess, she’d say it was probably black and blue. Or maybe purple?

Her Miraculous didn’t enhance eyesight like Chat’s was reported too, so she wasn’t actually sure.

“What did you mean by that?”

Queen B turned to Rena Rouge at her comment. “By what?”

“When Ladybug suggested doing the gifts thing, you said you had a lot to make up for with her. What did that mean?”

Queen B turned away, frowning. Rena didn’t need to know, did she?

“Look, if it’s too personal that’s alright, but if it’s Akuma guilt, which is still personal I guess, you need to remember that your Akuma was Hawkmoth, not you.”

“It’s not that! It’s something else,” Rena thought she was guilty about being an Akuma? Nope. Well, yes, but that wasn’t what she had meant.

“Is it something I can help with?”

Queen B sighed, maybe she should have said Rena’s ‘BFF’ essence was another gift. Was there anyone the girl wasn’t a good friend too?

“Only off the record,” Queen B surprised herself by saying it. Crap. No one was supposed to know they knew! Maybe she could lie? But-

“I can do that.”

But Rena was trustworthy. Ladaybug had said so herself. It couldn’t hurt that much, right?

“No one else should know this, okay? I probably shouldn’t even be telling you, but the only person I can talk about it to is my Kwami. Well, I could talk to Ladybug about it, but that would require actually setting up a civilian meetup, which I don’t think I can do.”

“Civilian meetup?” Rena laughed nervously. “You do know we aren’t allowed to do that, right?”

“Because we can’t know who each other is?”

“Yeah.”

“I know who she is.”

Queen B flinched as Rena punched her in the shoulder. “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were. It’s be a ridiculous lie, but I wish it was,” she shook her head. “Everything was so much simpler when I could hate civilian her and love her when she was wearing spots.”

“What?” Rena asked, her brown eyes widening.

“Ridiculous, right? All it took was a boost of confidence, a mask, and a friend who stuck by her side and trusted her enough to let her save my life. and suddenly she was the best thing ever,” Queen B flinched as the something exploded, illuminating Chat Noir being really close to it, but focused back on her and Rena’s talk. They weren’t allowed to help unless called for. “It’s my fault Chat has to be so encouraging to her. For years, years, I told this girl she was worthless and tortured her almost every day. It was fun to make her life miserable, and no one ever stood up for her. It made it easy.

“And then this year started, and suddenly there are people willing to be her friends and raise her confidence, and stand up for her, and then she was standing up for herself and everyone else. I blamed it on the friends and started attacking most of them too. I even got one of them Akumatized. And I almost got Spots Akumatized, even with her Miraculous’ protection.

“And then a few weeks ago, after that crazy actor Akuma that attacked a school, we literally ran into each other as our timers ran out.

“I was horrible to her for years Rena, and she still saw fit to let me be a hero. She gave me this amazing opportunity, and I love it. But I still haven’t made it up to her.”

Rena Rouge seemed broken. After a minute she snapped back to reality, shaking her head. “You sound like Chloe, Queenie.”

Queen B shot straight up and looked her in the eye. “Chloe?”

“One of my classmates, never mind. But I think you left something out. You can’t have been that horrible if she gave you your Miraculous,” Rena’s raised eyebrow pushed Queen B onward, ignoring the fact that she and Rena might also go to school together. Besides, she couldn’t be the only Chloe in Paris, right?

“I’ve been trying to get better for weeks, something both Spots and Civilian her have been encouraging me to do. I guess I got good enough. But I know I’m not actually. Not until I make amends with everyone, and make sure she knows how sorry I am. I was wrong, every single time I said those things, I just couldn’t see it through the haze that was the adrenaline from attacking her.”

Queen B’s trompo started ringing before they could carry on, “Thanks for listening, let’s see what they need,” she flicked it open as the Eiffel tower started to tip.

“Turns out, we really need help with this one. Any chance you could-”

“LB the tower’s coming down!”

“Crap! Both of you, get out of there now!” Ladybug’s feed went dark, but Rena and Queen B were already on their feet.

“Any time Queenie. Have you tried just apologizing?” Rena offered, jumping down. Queen B followed, unsure of how to answer.

Rena Rouge’s focus was torn as she reached the ground, where an Akuma who seemed to be calling herself “Lovekiller” and looked like a female Dark Cupid, minus the wings, -Honestly, couldn’t Hawkmoth find new themes for his Akuma?- was shooting, arrows. Of course. Sadly though, these one’s didn’t seem to absorb into their targets and turn them hateful, instead splitting into multiples and exploding on impact with anything. At least he gave her new powers.

“Geez Hawkmoth! Reusing designs? And I thought you couldn’t get any lower! You didn’t even pick a good one!” Queen B sounded outraged. Just a minute ago she looked like she was hauling a thousand pounds of regret, and now she looked ready to drop that weight onto the Akuma. Or maybe Hawkmoth? Rena didn’t know.

She didn’t know what to think about any of this. Queen B knew who Ladybug was. And was sad about it!

Then again, with the version of backstory Queenie told her, Rena probably would have been a little bit upset in her shoes too.

“Rena watch it!” She was yanked out of the line of fire, Ladybug’s yo-yo wrapped around her middle.

“Sorry, I-”

“Just don’t do it again. Please, I don’t want you hurt.”

Rena nodded, trying to focus back on the task at hand. It had been easier when she was caught up in the thrill of being a hero, not wondering about the secrets of her newest teammate.

Lovekiller’s attacks were mostly random, but seemed to be aimed especially at the few people who hadn’t evacuated and were still in groups. Weird.

“What’s our plan?” Rena asked, watching Ladybug pull Queenie back over to them.

“By ‘Love’ she means social relationships,” Chat started to explain as Ladybug knocked an arrow out of the sky. “We need to scatter, or start acting like we hate each other, and then-” A beeping noise cut him off. “Ladybug?”

“I got it, go recharge.”

Chat nodded and leapt off, staying behind cover.

“Once we’re scattered, we attack. Rena, we need copies of each of us, make it look like they’re getting along. This will distract Lovekiller while Chat and I sneak up on her. Stay out of her sight, if she sees you she’ll realize it’s a trick, and you can’t hold an illusion under fire. B, you need to have sting ready at Rena’s back, in case Lovekiller does figure it out. I’ll call for a Lucky Charm as soon as Chat gets back, and we’ll go on frontal assault. Rena, you’ll need to update our illusions as we go, so she can’t tell the difference. Everything clear?”

“We got it Spots. Rena, meet up over there?” Queen B motioned towards the fallen Eiffel tower.

“Yeah,” Rena confirmed, pulling her flute off her back.

The plan was executed without a hitch, the Lucky Charm being an ice cream. Alya was pretty sure that had been a common one, but it did work.

Concentrating on her illusions had been helpful, but after their usual fistbump there was nothing to distract her from what Queenie had said. Ladybug didn’t seem to be harboring any negative feelings towards her, and yet Queenie was sure she should.

And here Alya thought that all the drama in stories were just spicing it up for fans.

“See you guys next time!” Chat saluted and bounded off, his staff glinting as he left.

“I should go too,” Rena tried to give Queenie a look that said she and Ladybug needed to talk. She wasn’t sure if it worked as she ran away, but she really hoped so.

She landed behind one of the Eiffel tower’s higher support beams to detransform, handing Trixx a snack as she did so.

“Quite a tangle, eh?” The little being asked, her purple eyes bright.

“Totally,” Alya agreed, turning to head home.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry!” The sudden outburst made Alya turn back, surprised by the noise. Queen B’s bright coloring stood out across the open space as she talked to Ladybug.

“Thank you,” Ladybug’s did too, until pink sparkles ran up her body, making the deserted area they must have moved to as well brighter for a moment. “Do you think you’re ready to try and make up with Alya?”

“What?”

“Chloe, I forgive you. But, I’m not the only one you’ve hurt.”

“Alya, we should leave,” Trixx warned, floating into her line of sight. Alya closed her eyes and turned back towards the stairs home. Trixx was right, they needed to leave. She shouldn’t be listening. But, Queenie was Chloe! Chloe. Alya didn’t know how to cope with this.

And the voice she had heard from Ladybug sounded way too similar to someone else she knew. Not that she was going to admit that to anyone, even herself.

[atozfic]

overdrive.

pairing. kim hongjoong x fem!reader.

synopsis. a lonely artist finds himself in need of some human contact, so he joins a dating app but with a very specific request: he doesn’t want a relationship, he wants the experience of one. when someone contacts him, interested and willing to aid him in his search for artistic inspiration, the rules quickly become simple: no real names, no personal details, no feelings. so what the hell is kim hongjoong supposed to do when he catches himself daydreaming about their future together?- or, can you fall in love with a stranger?

warnings. strangers to lovers, fake dating au (kinda?), artist!hongjoong, aged up!ateez (irl age + 5 years), angst, fluff,heavy themes of mental health, depictions of depression, trauma and anxiety, brief mentions of cheating, death, bullying, drugs and alcohol, way too many attempts at humour. smut: dom!hongjoong, sub!reader, nipple play, hair pulling, dirty talk, finger-sucking, spit used as lube, use of the word “doll”, unprotected sex, penetrative sex. 

word count. 17.8k

hyde’s input. this fic is my baby. i love it with my whole heart. it’s been in the making long before i even opened this account. all it took was listening to overdrive by conan gray once and this entire monster of a fic started to unravel in my brain. any feedback is appreciated, same goes for any like or simple reblog! if there’s any spelling mistakes, look the other way: this is 17.8k, i’ve re-read it ten times, i’m sorry!

“I don't know what you're on about, dude. It looks pretty good to me.”

Praise and positive reviews were not what Hongjoong wanted to hear. In fact, all he wanted to do in that moment was kick his own foot through the tainted canvas, until no sign remained of the painting he'd finished in the early hours of the morning; to drench the palette in whatever alcohol he could find laying around the messy studio and light it up into flames.

“I've seen your child make a finger painting better than this. Don't lie to me, Park Seonghwa!” Hongjoong groaned, slouching back in a huff as he melted further into the old leathered sofa. His head tilted back and his eyes snapped shut whilst he inhaled deeply, the offensive smell of fresh paint entering his system.

“I can't help it!” The other male exclaimed and Hongjoong could perfectly picture how he threw his hands up into the air in self-defence, eyes wide and a smile threatening to make itself known. “Being your friend comes way before being your agent, I can't help but be biased!”

Hongjoong’s eyes snapped open. “I literally pay you to not be biased!”

“Yeah, well, I think we've already established that you make mistakes.” With a sheepish smile, the older male gestured towards the canvas and Hongjoong couldn't even find it within himself to try and disagree.

He really had gambled on the fact that this one piece would turn out the way he wanted it to. The truth was, he'd known deep down the work wouldn't turn out well. Through the months of working at it, he kept his optimism up and repeated how if he just added a few more shades, a few more details, the painting would magically morph itself into exactly what he wanted from it. And now he was less than five months away from his submission deadline and missing one painting from his collection. The one which he'd promised himself would be the real kicker, the centre piece, the main character of the exhibition.

“This is hopeless, Hwa!” Sulking came easier than inspiration to the petite artist as of late, a fact which depressed him a little more than he'd ever let another person know. “I don't get what I'm missing here. The concept is so basic yet, every time I go to press brush to canvas, it's like I'm faced with a foreign language and telling myself that if I just stare a little longer, the letters will figure themselves out and I'll miraculously become fluent.”

“Because you're not feeling it, Hongjoong.”

“Feeling what?”

“The concept.” When the taller male was met with nothing but a blank expression, he gestured around with his hand and continued. “Moving on. I mean, you've been single for, what now? Sixteen months? And in that whole time, you've not even entertained the idea of meeting someone new, or even just going on a date.”

“Forgive me for not rushing to throw myself back into a relationship after my last one.” Hongjoong always hated when he failed to control his darker feelings, hating to expose how weak he actually was to things like anger, sadness, depression.

It's why he turned to art in the first place, during his teenage years, which were plagued with awful and painful experiences. Rather than facing them head-on, Hongjoong melted his emotions into colours, presented them on a plain background and worked his way into a scholarship. And, so, that's how it had always been for him. He never had to talk his feelings out, he just painted and others took what they could understand from it.

The leather squeaked under the new pressure of Seonghwa sitting next to him. Hongjoong's eyes shot to the male's lap, where he could see his friend nervously fidgeting with the ring on his left hand. Whatever Seonghwa was about to say next, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

“Look, I get it. I know how hurt you were after things ended between you and...” She'd become the Voldemort of his life, everyone else around him refusing to utter her name out loud and all treating him like the fragile child who'd survived her attack and came out alive with nothing but a scar. Only, his scar was less lightning shaped and more like a cracked heart. “But don't you think it's time you try move on? You're letting... her effect you more than she deserves to. She wasn't the one for you but someone, somewhere, is. You're not going to meet them in here, you need to be outside, experiencing life, waiting for the moment you both cross paths.”

Hongjoong had always envied Seonghwa and his hopeful attitude towards love.

Of course he didn't understand, even if he claimed to. Seonghwa had never even experienced a break up, never mind heartbreak. He met the love of his life at the age of fifteen and married her at the age of twenty five, welcoming their first child together not even a year after.

“Chae wanted me to ask you if maybe you'd consider meeting a girl from her faculty.” Ah, there it was. The whole reason Seonghwa had even brought up his love life in the first place. “She's really sweet! And she's new to the city. And Chae figured, since you know all the best places here out of all of us, you'd be a great tour guide.”

“San literally works in real estate, Hwa. His job is knowing this city like the back of his hand.”

“San is also happily engaged. Come on, what is there to lose? One date, that's all I'm asking you to try.” Seonghwa whined, reminding Hongjoong of the man's child. “You need to start living life again, dude. Because this life of self pity isn't working out for you anymore, it's beginning to affect your career. Just put yourself out there and, if it goes shit, you can blame me.”

“Oh, I'll do more than blame you.”

“So, does that mean you're agreeing to it?”

Hongjoong sighed, pushing himself to stand up from the couch, his hands stinging from the dried paint and his muscles aching with the need for a warm shower. Eyeing the repulsive piece once more, he mentally cursed Seonghwa for playing the career card. He couldn't pretend the man didn't have a point, his art was in need of a new muse, sooner rather than later if he intended to not be a one hit wonder.

“Only because I really need to make that deadline.”

The evening should have been nothing short from perfect: a fresh bouquet handed to her at her front door, a pleasant evening stroll to the restaurant, a mouth-watering meal, not a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two of them. So, why did Hongjoong feel like something was missing?

It was somehow nothing and, yet, everything personal. His date, who he'd forgotten the name of two hours into the night and was now doing his best to avoid having to say it, was by all means conventionally attractive. She had a strong sense of self, the kind of woman he pictured his mother wanting for him. From the many stories she'd shared through the evening, he could tell she loved her job just as much as she loved to talk. They could work as a couple, theoretically. Hongjoong wasn't quite the talker- unless the topic of conversation pertained to one of his obscure, niche interests-, whereas she looked like she could talk for the whole republic of Korea. Her clothing was loud, colourful, a reflection of her personality. Meanwhile, his were dark, plain. She was a social butterfly, he was a solitary caterpillar.

If opposites truly did attract, she would have been his soulmate.

Hongjoong was the issue, though. Or, at least that's what he thought of himself. There he was, on a date with a beautiful woman who was doing her best in life, thriving both socially and in her career. Meanwhile, he was a burnt out artist who rarely found the motivation to wash his hair and had seven friends, only one which he'd actually gone out of his way to make himself and that was in high school. He felt irritated by her perfection, by his inability to have his life put together in that same way. Only a few years away from hitting thirty, and what did he have to show for himself? A single exhibition in his whole career and a one bedroom apartment he'd been living in since college? The girl across from him deserved better than what he had to offer.

“...long story short, that's why Chaeyoung found me crying in the toilet on my first day.” Her flirtatious laughter attracted stares from surrounding tables. None malicious but all wondering why the poor girl's date seemed so miserable in the presence of someone so bubbly. “Speaking of toilets, I'm just going to go freshen up. Don't miss me too much.”

“No promises.” He smiled up at her when she rose from her seat, the guilt in the pit of his stomach growing heavier with each passing second.

As she disappeared from sight, Hongjoong sighed. Out of relief, sadness, exhaustion? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The events of the evening were pushed aside as he let his eyes trail around the restaurant's interior. The whole place had been refurbished since the last time he'd been.

The last time he'd stepped foot in the restaurant, the whole place was made up of different shades of blue. The walls, the seats, the tablecloths. Walking in felt like being slapped in the face by a raging ocean. When it came to his art, he hated the colour blue. But he'd put up with it in that restaurant because she always liked the service there.

Now, the restaurant had changed hands and the new owner clearly had a more minimalistic approach to things. The walls were a mirage of beige, an elegant design printed on the selected wallpaper. The furniture was a combination of black metals and wooden tops and, where a bunch of cheap chandeliers had once hung, a selection of fairy lights entwined with strings of fake leaves rested above everyone's head. If Hongjoong tried hard enough, he could picture his ex sat across from him in that moment, nose turned up while she failed to quietly bash the rugged look of the restaurant.

Clearing his throat, Hongjoong finished off the remnants of his drink. He figured taking this time to ask for the bill was the least he could do. His date had put in all the effort of conversation, he should be the one to cover the cost of the evening. Between waiting for the bill, and waiting for his date to return, his eyes drifted across the room to another couple.

It wasn't the girl's striking beauty nor the male's loud booming laughter that had caught his interest. It was the way they seemed the opposite of him and his date: the girl looked bored to death and the man seemed to only pause from talking to shovel a fork full of pasta into his mouth, not even waiting to swallow before speaking again. Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, hands occupying themselves with his napkin, more than sure that he was seeing exactly what other customers had seen when they looked at him and his date.

In another life, where everything was a rom-com and romance wasn't the root of all misery, Hongjoong would believe this girl was his soulmate, both of them destined to meet at the bar as they attempted to escape their talkative dates- who would likely be destined to meet that same evening too. Maybe they'd have a joint wedding, all laughing when they thought of the times they'd tried to end up with the other's spouse.

Instead of heading to the bar, Hongjoong payed the bill and, when his date returned, they both walked out of the restaurant; her a few steps ahead of him while he took one last glance at the opposite couple.

The walk back to her place was a little less awkward for Hongjoong than the rest of the evening, the prospect of finally being able to go back to the safe place that was his apartment giving him a buzz of energy. She'd asked him questions about the city, mostly just about the best places to go for specific things, and he'd answered her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket while hers swung freely at her side. Every couple of swings, he'd wonder if she was waiting for him to take a hold of it, intertwine his fingers with her own.

They arrived at her door and the echo of the nightlife around them was starting to pick up, people just beginning their evening together while they two were bringing theirs to an end.

“Thanks for tonight. I really... appreciated your company,” He internally groaned. He sounded like he was closing a business meeting, not saying goodnight to a girl he'd just went out with. “you're a really nice girl. It's been nice meeting you.”

“It was really nice meeting you too!” There it was again, that twinge of hatred towards her. She was just so happy, Hongjoong envied her.

“I'm really sorry for wasting your time.” A hand shot up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the bottom of the mullet he'd grown in the months of heartbreak. “I'm just, not really looking for anything with anyone right now? It's nothing personal.”

“Hey, no worries! In all honesty, this was more about just going out in the city. It's not easy being the new kid in town!” The smile never faltered from her face, not even at her next words. “Chaeyoung may or may have not explained a little bit of your situation to me and, I know my opinion as a stranger might mean nothing to you, and I totally respect that, but let me just say this. I think you're a really nice guy. A cool guy, with a lot to offer. You just seem to have forgotten who that guy is, which is a shame. I'd really like to be friends with him.”

“I,” He paused, a little stunned and unsure of what he should say. He'd been told similar things from friends, and it was easy to brush off. But, coming from this girl who barely knew him yet had read him so easily? It was hard. “yeah. I'm trying to remember, I think. Thanks for saying that. And for tonight. Hopefully you don't mind being stuck being friends with whoever I am right now.”

A colourful string of curses pierced the air of the apartment. Hongjoong pulled back from the sizzling pan, wishing he could punch the him from ten minutes ago who thought it was a smart idea to cook bacon in nothing but his underwear.

Growing into his own skin was something that had taken him years to achieve. He'd always been on the shorter end of height amongst those in his class, which hadn't helped with the singled-out bullying he endured in his formative years. There's only so many times a person, especially an impressionable teenager, needs to be told their supposed short-comings before they begin to believe it's all that defines them. He'd learnt to love himself through watching her love him, following in her footsteps like a baby duck followed it's mother. Out of everything the relationship had left him with- the heartbreak, the trust issues, the betrayal- he was happy it had brought him self-love.

The self-love that made him confident enough to lounge around in his boxers though? Yeah, that could get lost, as far as he was concerned.

His ringtone began to play, to which the already frustrated, and admittedly sleep deprived, Hongjoong groaned as he walked around the kitchen island into the living area. Like always, he found the damned device buried within the creases of his couch.

Seonghwa was calling him.

Hongjoong hit decline.

It was ten minutes past noon, he'd barely been awake for half an hour and his skin had already been tainted with burns from the oil spat at him by his pan. There was not a chance in hell, purgatory or heaven that he was about to answer and listen to his friend barrage him with questions about how the date went. Hongjoong wasn't ready to listen to the hopeless romantic in Park Seonghwa try to find moments of hope in the terribly mundane evening him and the girl had shared.

No second date would be happening, a fact which comforted Hongjoong. A weight had been removed from his chest, that sinking feeling gone. The accomplishment of having done what Seonghwa had asked of him, no matter the end result, was a small success in his books, a step in the right direction out of his cycle of misery. However, that one step didn't mean he was ready to run a marathon.

If Hongjoong really was going to walk the path back to his old self, or carve a new one, he'd be doing it on his own terms and at his own pace.

The influx of buzzing from his phone took his attention once again, this time coming from a familiar group chat. Hongjoong had told himself to mute it yet always forgot to.

[12:11 pm] wooshit: istg she's left me with 6 pulled muscles and a broken bed, best sex i've had in a long time.

Jung Wooyoung was one of those friends he hadn't gone out of his way to make but, rather, he just turned up one day in Hongjoong's life, slapping him on the ass and asking him if he would mind painting a nude portrait of him.

[12:13 pm] yeolo: you say that every time you have sex.

[12:14 pm] wooshit: kang yeosang stop being salty about me getting my dick wet challenge: failed.

Yeosang had been the one to blame for introducing Wooyoung to the group and, though he too was technically someone who simply showed up one day, Hongjoong had shared a class with him during college days.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: honey, we need to stop befriending these hets like we're a charity.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: oh shit.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: did i send that here?

[12:17 pm] minki: yeah, but you're right.

[12:17 pm] minki: from now on, you guys need to pay for the service of our company.

Then there was Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi, yet another golden couple in Hongjoong's life. Like Seonghwa and his wife, they'd met in school, the only difference being that they never fully accepted their feelings for each other until much later. They were the first new additions to Hongjoong and Seonghwa's life, the four sticking together after ending up sharing a dorm.

[12:22 pm] wooshit: i don't even pay for netflix, what makes you think i'd pay for you?

[12:23 pm] yeolo: idk how he keeps accessing my account, i've changed my password over six times!

[12:23 pm] jongno: adding another number at the end of hehet doesn't count as changing your password, yeo.

The latest friend among them all, Choi Jongho, was dragged into their mess by Seonghwa, who'd contacted him about singing at his wedding. Somehow, the night had ended with the lot of them embarrassing themselves on the mic during various rounds of drunken karaoke, while Chaeyoung looked on, unamused by her new husband's antics.

[12:26 pm] sanwitch: am i the only one still wondering how tf woo convinces these women to sleep with him?

If there were a voice of reason among them all, it certainly wasn't San. After meeting his fiancé, he'd tried to play off like he'd matured but they all knew he was still Wooyoung's double, one half of their dumb and dumber act.

[12:27 pm] wooshit: i don't appreciate your tone.

[12:28 pm] wooshit: i'm a suave casanova. a modern gentleman. ladies fall at my feet when i wink.

[12:29 pm] yeolo: he's on a hook up app.

[12:29 pm] wooshit: hate it here.

[12:30 pm] wooshit: it's not a hook up app, it's a dating app. the best one, actually.

[12:30 pm] yeolo: a dating app for horny singles.

[12:31 pm] wooshit: hey! horny singles want love too!

[12:34 pm] minki: what's so good about it anyway?

[12:36 pm] wooshit: i'm glad you asked, mingles.

[12:37 pm] yeolo: oh no, here we go.

At some point, Hongjoong had reclined himself against the arm of his couch, slowly but surely sinking into it whilst his eyes and thumbs scrolled over the screen. It wasn't like he had any intentions of join the conversation. No, that would risk Seonghwa seeing him online. The conversation was nothing special either compared to the countless other ones they'd spammed the chat with. Still, a magnetic force was pulling Hongjoong to keep reading, to pay attention.

[12:43 pm] wooshit: the app let's you choose who gets to see your private info, like your name, age, etc...

[12:43 pm] wooshit: so users just see your pictures and whatever description you write, until you approve them to see more. it's great, filters out people who're looking for anything long term.

[12:49 pm] sanwitch: isn't it weird to hook up with people and not know who they are?

[12:52 pm] yunhoe: not to mention, dangerous?

[12:53 pm] wooshit: that's the fun part!

[12:53 pm] wooshit: this is why i fear relationships.

[12:54 pm] wooshit: it's turned the two biggest man whores i knew into boring, dick/pussy whipped losers.

[12:58 pm] yeolo: wait, so what's the app called?

[13:03 pm] jongno: don't do it, yeo.

[13:05 pm] wooshit: stfu jongho.

[13:05 pm] wooshit: yeo don't listen to him, baby.

[13:06 pm] wooshit: the app's called checkmate.

[13:08 pm] jongno: can i just be the one to remind wy he's less than a year away from hitting 27?

[13:10 pm] yunhoe: don't join the dark side, yeo. you're better than that.

[13:04 pm] wooshit: yeo used to think darth vader was hot, he's always been on the dark side, yunho.

An offensive beeping rang out in the room, startling Hongjoong and sending him catapulting out of his seat, a hand clutching his chest. His heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. In a state of panic, he began to recount the safety measures she'd instilled in him for whenever the fire alarm went off. It was only once his eyes had settled on the fire extinguisher that a rather offensive smell hit his nose, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

His bacon had burnt.

There was something he despised about arriving early to things.

For starters, it made him panic that he'd gotten the days mixed up, more often than not finding himself unlocking his phone and aiming straight for his calendar. After confirming the plans aligned with the select day, he'd check the text history with whoever he was meeting, in case he'd written it down incorrectly in his phone.

Moving on from there, Hongjoong would fall down a spiral of believing everyone in the surrounding vicinity had their eyes on him. In his mind, they were all questioning why he was alone, what was he doing, if he was just a complete loner. He solved this by occupying himself with his phone, scrolling through his gallery or aimlessly rereading conversations in the Teezers group chat.

It would soothe him for a while, until his brain found something else to worry about: being stood up. The overwhelming feeling of abandonment was something he carried close to his heart, sneaking out at the minimum sign of someone not arriving for an arranged meeting. There were times, when he'd arrive first out of the Teezers, that his own fear was strong enough to convince himself that all seven of the boys had collectively agreed to not meet up and to leave Hongjoong waiting.

Right now, he was experiencing the second stage.

With half a cup of coffee left and a shredded napkin in his anxious hands, Hongjoong was doing his best to limit the number of times his eyes wandered over to the entry of the café. Eventually, the napkin was replaced by his phone, cringing as he forgot to turn his volume down before he opened the app. He would be more than ashamed if someone in the café recognized the app's signature tune, fearing the judgement he'd receive for being on such a site.

Hongjoong hadn't told anyone he'd joined Checkmate, not even his friends. Was it partially out of fear of judgement? Yes, the judgement from finding out the real reason he'd signed up.

Two weeks had passed since he'd set up his profile and he was still blaming it on a moment of weakness, born from lack of sleep, mild dehydration and the paint fumes he'd been inhaling indirectly all day in his studio. The feeling of needing a new muse returned to him, stronger than any previous time. Without much thought, Hongjoong had unlocked his phone, memories of Wooyoung and his self-proclaimed "best dating app" at the front of his mind. And, though Hongjoong had always despised the concept of a dating app- he much preferred the old fashioned way of falling in love, the artist in him seeking out that moment of fate where one gazed across a room and caught the sight of someone magnetic, someone they needed to meet-, the app was ideal for what he wanted.

He squirmed in his seat, turning the brightness of his screen down as his dating profile flashed onto it. He'd uploaded exactly three images of himself: one of him sat in a car, adorned with a beret and a camera in hand; another taken of him across a table, back when his hair was red and his eyes were happier; the last was a selfie he'd taken in an elevator with his face covered by a mask, he'd hoped it wasn't too obvious his ex had been cropped out of it.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Hongjoong grimaced as he read over his profile description.

this may sound strange but i'm not looking for a relationship or a casual hook-up. what i really need is someone to experience things with, experiences that my friends are too exhausting to give me and my family is too judgemental. i don't want to know you, and i don't want you to know me. i just want us to live a few moments together, as strangers. call them dates if you want, i don't care. maybe you don't understand what i'm asking for, maybe you think this sounds like a scam that ends with you dead. that's fine, you're not the person for the job, please move on from my profile. but, maybe you're like me and the past months have been you living in autopilot, waking up because you have to, not because you want to. maybe your friends are just like mine and they've told you to put yourself out there more or that they miss the old you. this is both of our chances to change that, to be our old selves again or become a newer, better version. if that's the case, message me but don't let me see your private info. be my stranger.

Given it's contents, he was amazed anyone had messaged him. Maybe he'd been hoping to get no response. He'd be able to remain sedated with the fact he'd tried, leaving him the perfect excuse to not do so again for a while.

But someone had replied. The person, from the few pictures Hongjoong had been permitted to view on their profile, was beautiful. To others, the word beauty could easily hold a single meaning, a specific look. To the artist, it meant everything. He had a knack for finding hidden treasures, glimpses of rarity. His fingers had itched to portrait such a face on paper the longer he'd stared at the pictures, which both terrified and satisfied him.

He'd not even met you yet and already he'd had a surge of inspiration, even if it died a few seconds later.

The third stage of arriving early was about to commence when, much to his relief, a figure sat across from him.

There you were, nervously pulling back your own seat and placing down your to-go cup. Details about your face were different in person than in pictures but it didn't diminish your beauty. No, it rather enhanced it.

“What did you order?” Hongjoong often thought someone's choice of drink could tell you a lot about them. Like how Seonghwa ordered a cortado because he was always in a rush, or how San had the habit of getting a mocha to kill two birds with one stone: satisfy the craving for coffee and chocolate, or how he himself tended to order plain black coffee to avoid any fuss for the person serving him.

“Mango tea.” Was your reply and Hongjoong wasn't sure what to make of it. In all honesty, he hadn't known there was such a thing. He really needed to start reading the menu at these places.

“Don't drink coffee?” His question was observational. Statistically speaking, didn't most people fall under the veil of a coffee or tea person, the drink version of the good old cat or dog debate?

“Only when I'm stressing.” There was something about the way you spoke to him, like you hated the small talk just as much as he did, that had Hongjoong gripping on to everything you said. Was this what it was like to speak to himself? “Sorry, not to be rude, but could we cut to the chase? I have to be back in class in,” You paused, pulling back the denim sleeve to read your watch’s face. “seventeen minutes.”

His eyes widened at the word class, like he was personally offended by it. All rational sense left, his prone-to-panic brain doing what it done best and throwing him down a spiral of dark thoughts.

“College!” You exclaimed, hands shooting up a little, your palms on display. “College class. I'm...” You seemed hesitant to speak, halting yourself mid-sentence. You knew what the man in front of you wanted and personal information was not it. “of age. Not some high school student, I swear.”

When Hongjoong gave you no reply, you continued to speak.

“Not that it really matters. We're not going to be doing anything. But still, you don't want to be... hanging out with some kid. I get it. Me neither. Yeah, I'm a college student.”

“I believe you.” Different to his previous date, Hongjoong didn't think you were much of a talker. A nervous talker, perhaps. He could relate to that a bit more. There was a humming in his veins, his body buzzing with the thrill of sitting across from a complete stranger and not having to worry about your impression of him, if he was showing all his best qualities, intriguing you to get to know him better. There never had to be a fear of you being disappointed with what you'd find in meeting the real Kim Hongjoong. “Anyway, yeah. Let's get into it quickly so you can make it back to class.”

“Okay, so you already said in our text conversation that you don't want to know any personal information.” Hongjoong nodded, affirming your statement. “What exactly do you consider personal information?”

“Anything that defines who you are. Your age, your hobbies, your hometown. Especially your name,” He finished off the last of his coffee, doing his best to ignore the bitter taste. “It's too easy to learn everything about someone these days with just their name and access to the internet.”

“Sheesh, these days? You talk like my middle-aged father.” You seemed to catch your mistake just as it left your mouth, looking off to the side momentarily before meeting his eyes again. “Shit, sorry, you just said you didn't want to share our ages.”

Hongjoong almost wanted to laugh out of pity, seeing so much of himself reflected in you yet finding you so different all at once. “Love that you apologise for that but not for insinuating that I'm old.”

“Hey, ain't no shame in a little age. I've heard having a glucose father helps cover the costs of college.”

“Glucose... father?”

“And then you wonder why I called you old?” For the first time since you'd approached the table, he saw a wave of confidence wash over you, burning in the satisfaction of whatever diss you seemed to believe you'd handed to him. “So, if we're not getting to share names, what am I supposed to call you?”

“That's... actually a good question. I didn't think that far ahead.” Before falling asleep the night before, Hongjoong had rehearsed every possible scenario he could think of regarding how this meeting would go. Hell, he'd even prepared for if you revealed mid-way that you were an alien lifeforce! He'd miraculously skimmed over how to get past the whole name situation. “I don't know, I guess we could just tell each other fake names.”

“Or,” You drummed your hands on the table. He found it a little annoying. “we could pick out names for each other.”

“You first, then.”

Hongjoong felt the urge to sit up straight instead of his usual slouched posture at the drag of your eyes over him. It was intimidating to know you were analysing everything about him based solely on his exterior, yet it filled him with a twisted pleasure. He hoped whatever conclusion you came to about him would be incorrect, his superiority complex needing a comeback.

“Clyde.” Not a name he expected. “Cause you seem like the complete opposite of that name, but I'm also kinda suspicious that you might be some sicko waiting to make a mask out of my face.”

“Who's to say it's not you who's going to make a mask out of mine?” His eyes caught the way you checked your watch again, time running by quickly. “Then I guess I'll be calling you Bonnie, to keep things on theme.”

“Well aren't you just the little romantic?”

Hongjoong didn't want to stay in your company any longer than necessary, he really didn't. But your bus stop just happened to be in the same direction of where he'd managed to park his car. Saying goodbye at the café door only walk in the same direction would have been too painfully awkward for Hongjoong to endure, so he offered to walk you to the stop.

You both managed to come to an agreement on your schedule: every Saturday. It was the only day you had free, the rest filled with school and work. He'd felt a little guilty admitting he lacked responsibilities in that department.

Watching you walk told him more than your drink order had. You seemed to pull into yourself, shoulders kinda tight, hands in your pockets, head a little low hanging like you were watching your own steps.

Spotting the bus stop up ahead, he picked up pace. His social battery was running out, a sight no one enjoyed witnessing. But you called him to stop and, out of politeness, he felt the need to obey.

“Hold on, I'll be back in a second, I swear.”

Off you'd disappeared into a convenience store, leaving Hongjoong abandoned in the middle of the pavement. That feeling of having eyes on him returned but he survived, resisting the urge to fake being occupied by his phone. You came bustling back out, a white plastic bag at your side and a look of success on your face.

“Here, take this.” You reached into the bag, holding out a cardboard box to him. Upon inspection, he quickly realised what you'd bought. You were smarter than he'd expected, what a relief. “Now we won't even have to share our real numbers.”

Hours later, the black, clunky burner phone would buzz in Hongjoong's back pocket, a single text on the grainy screen.

from: bonnie c u on saturday, grandpa.

“Maybe this wasn't a good idea.”

Hongjoong couldn't agree with you more, a frustrated sigh falling from his lips as he struggled to pack up his stuff. In his mind, he couldn't get away from there fast enough. Momentarily, his eyes skirted over to you, satisfied to find you also packing up and throwing your bag over your shoulder, not an ounce of hesitation. The look you both shared before commencing to run made it clear you were wondering the same thing.

How the hell had the date taken such a turn?

As promised, the two of you had met on a Saturday. Hongjoong picked you up from that same bus stop you'd parted ways at, figuring it was easier than finding out what other places you localled in your free time. Upon your arrival, Hongjoong did not notice the little things that had changed about you since he'd last seen you, like the way your hair was a couple shades darker or how you'd changed your phone case.

“Looking dapper, Clyde.” You'd said, taking in his outfit when you'd stepped off the bus.

He'd always prided himself on the ways he expressed himself, whether that be through his artwork, his words or his fashion sense. There'd been a time where his wardrobe was colourful, full of oddities and unique pieces, things he'd thrifted and renovated to suit his taste more. Nowadays, all the colour in his wardrobe was hidden behind piles of whites and greys and blacks. Hongjoong felt a shot of pride run through him at your comment, standing there in black cargo pants paired with a white graphic tee and a pair of faded black Doc Martins' he'd owned for a few too many years.

It felt good to be complimented still.

“I hope you don't have any allergies.” By the time you'd both sat yourselves in his car, Hongjoong was feeling a little less tense. The initial greetings with strangers was always the hardest part.

“Is that a trick question, Clyde?”

“Not at all, Bonnie. Why? And you're having a little bit too much fun calling me that, aren't you?”

“It's a cool name!” You threw your hands up in your own defence. “I thought we weren't supposed to share private info.”

“There's private information and then there's me accidentally putting your life at risk. Now answer the question.”

“And they say romance is dead.” You shifted in your seat, one hand playing with the zip of your jacket. “As long as you don't try force feed me a strawberry, we're good.”

Hongjoong didn't point out the fact you never asked him in return, not that he did have any allergies that needed pointed out. But you seemed disinterested in knowing, in caring. 

He'd picked the right person.

The car pulled up to an empty parking lot located in front of a field, a look of realization coming over you. Taking advantage of the trance you were in, Hongjoong shot out the car and made his way around to your door, effortlessly pulling it open and greeting you with a shy smile. He was hoping you liked the plans he'd made for you both. Not because he cared for your opinion, rather Hongjoong knew he needed an influx of colours to motivate him, inspire him.

And what better place to find colour than a field of blossoming flowers?

He closed the door behind you before leading you over to the boot of the car- which sparked several jokes about him murdering you and burying you in the field- and handed you a blanket before bringing out a basket. Conversation was scarce as you two ventured over the small fence and into the flowery field, the basket swinging with each of his steps and the blanket safely clutched against your chest. The smell was sweet, overwhelmingly fresh in contrast to the stiff air of Seoul.

“This looks like a good spot,” You said, coming to a stop in an empty patch surrounded by a rainbow made up of tulips. The artist in Hongjoong itched to take your picture, the sun creating the illusion of a halo above your head and the flowers a satisfying contrast to your monochromatic clothing. The person in him didn't want to carry the burden of your image in his gallery, a temptation to think of you on days that weren't Saturdays. “you agree?”

“Uh, yeah, seems fine to me.” He wanted to curse himself for taking a few moments to reply. Surely you didn't notice.

You laid the blanket down and he laid out the food: freshly cut fruit (no strawberry in sight), sandwiches without the crust (he always found the crust too dry), chocolate dipped almonds and honey drizzled pastries (he had a sweet tooth), different flavours of milk (banana was his favourite) and bottled water.

The date passed by slowly, neither of you willing to admit you were bored. It was hard to choose a topic of discussion when you weren't supposed to get to know each other, to care for what the other thought or felt. For a while, he'd told you facts about the different flowers around you until you took over and told him about different types of clouds. And then, you caved into the awkwardness.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

“I don't want to.”

“It doesn't have to be true.” You stated like it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That's the beauty of this, right? We don't have to be honest with who we are. So, tell me something about yourself, whether it's the truth or a lie. I'll never know, either way.”

Hongjoong paused mid bite of the pastry, tongue darting out to lick at the excess honey on his lips. “I'm an accountant.”

“Because no one asks what you do?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, boomer.”

“I'm not a boomer! I'm probably not much older than you!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.”

Hongjoong ignored the way peach juice dribbled down your chin as you took a bite. “It's your turn.”

“My cousin is a famous idol.”

Both of you lied.

And it worked, getting the conversation flowing a bit easier. Hongjoong enjoyed lying without the consequences that usually came along with it. It was like playing a character, no longer himself but Clyde, an accountant, career booming and social circle full. It was easier to be confident when nothing was reality.

But back to the present, where both you and Hongjoong were scrambling to grab your belongings and make a beeline for his car. A buzzing followed after you both, threatening to make you pay for intruding on the bees turf, who were hungry for nectar and not happy to find a pair of strangers sat among the flowers and eating the fruit of their labour.

Suddenly the prospect of a flower field was less romantically beautiful.

“Ow, ow, shit.” Hongjoong cursed, slamming the door to his car shut. With the adrenaline dissipating, the pain of the nasty sting he'd taken to the hand made itself known.

“Here, let me drive.” You called from the backseat, urging him to hop over to the passenger's side. Hongjoong hesitated, he didn't enjoy letting other's drive his car. But the itch in his hand only grew, leading him to give in. He grunted when you nearly elbowed him in the face while dragging yourself into the front. “Next time, let's just do something indoors.”

Hongjoong had certainly been on worse dates.

The dates continued on smoothly from there, with no more run ins with wildlife and less awkward silence each time.

You chose the second location, a pottery class, in which Hongjoong tried his best to not over-perform and you just tried to at least make a shape out of some clay. The third and fourth dates were chosen by him: a visit to a planetarium and a trust-building day of canoeing, by the end of that one, you both had nearly drank the whole lake away from the number of times you'd fallen in.

One thing remained consistent throughout. Without fail, there would come a time where one of you- usually you- would prompt the question "Tell me something about yourself."

He'd lied about being into clubbing and you lied about being a smoker.

He lied about having a sister and you lied about being fluent in four languages.

When you were honest about owning a cat, Hongjoong kept up the lies with saying he preferred dogs.

The fifth date was one you'd organised, giving Hongjoong nothing but an address and the instruction to dress like a pompous aristocrat. He felt a little silly, walking the street midday in his suit and tie, but he found himself caring less than he normally would. He quite liked being Clyde. He'd even nearly put on a teal tie, but he decided he still wasn't ready and stuck to a black one.

from: bonnie meet me inside.

Pulling the door open to the building, he was admittedly ashamed of not recognising the address of the art gallery. Back in college, he'd spent hours sat in the centre of some of the larger rooms, beautiful art encasing him as he worked away at whatever project he needed to complete before midnight.

He found you near the information desk, scrolling through your phone. He'd hate to ever admit he took this moment of liberty to give you a once-over. Your beauty was nothing new to him, a few dates in now. The way it morphed into something new every time, though, that never failed to intrigue him.

“You scrub up quite nicely, Bonnie.” Hongjoong no longer felt a shake in his voice whenever you two met up. It worried him that he may be getting used to you but, the smile you gave in retaliation to his greeting didn't worry him,

He actually liked it.

The two of you ventured through the gallery, shoulder to shoulder. You'd stare at the art and he would stare at you. For no reason other than he had seen these pieces all plenty of times, more than he'd seen you.

Hongjoong smiled, thinking of how wonderful it was to see someone experiencing the art for the first time. That smile faltered when you both came to a stop in front of a familiar painting. A portrait of a woman, naked skin tangled with rose vines and face stoic..

If only the thorns dug more into her skin, enough to draw blood, it would have satisfied him.

“This one makes me sad.” You spoke, unknowingly quenching some of the fiery anger burning up in him. He'd forgotten this piece was even hung here.

“Why?” He knew why it made him sad, but you? He couldn't understand. The painting was a supposed demonstration of love, a declaration of affection.

“It reminds me of unrequited love.” You took his lack of response as your sign to continue, clearing your throat. “It's like a shrine, or an artsy version of putting her up on a pedestal. Even it's name, Aphrodite's champion. It's like the artist is worshipping her like a goddess.”

He felt a lump swelling in his throat the more you spoke, the memories of her walking out on him playing out in his head. How she'd revealed her lies to him, stripped him away of his sanity, gaslit him into thinking he'd pushed her to the point of infidelity. It took many drunken nights in Seonghwa's company to get it through his head that nothing he'd done could ever excuse the way she treated him.

“I feel sorry for whoever the artist Kim Hongjoong is. They deserve better.”

He'd managed to make it to the bathroom in time for the first tear falling, you none-the-wiser to the emotional fractures ripping him apart in the tiny stall.

The sixth date went better.

He was relieved by the time Saturday arrived, his week filled with nothing but stress and heartache. On the Monday, Seonghwa had invited himself into his apartment, finding his friend dishevelled and puffy eyed in his studio room, an empty canvas in front of him and a paper scribbled with ideas in his hand. Wednesday saw the unexpected visit of his mother, which always went down a treat for him. On Thursday, he drank away the day that should've been his and his ex's fifth anniversary. By the time Friday had rolled around, Hongjoong started working, for the second time, on the final piece of his collection.

The reopening of his wounds had at least served some purpose.

Every other week so far, Saturday had been the day he dreaded. The day he had to mentally prepare for, the few hours of social interaction exhausting him. But the sixth Saturday was his saviour.

The day couldn't have gone better: he'd woken up early; he'd hummed along to the radio while cooking breakfast; he’d spent the afternoon painting, till his back ached and his fingers were cramped; he’d contemplated a hair cut but decided against it. And, when he'd stepped out the door that evening, twirling his keys on his finger, Hongjoong slipped on a red jacket.

“I can't believe drive-in cinema's are still a thing!” You exclaimed again, still in disbelief of where Hongjoong had brought you. His hands itched to reach up and wipe the mustard off the side of your mouth. Your napkin done it before he could lose his composure.

He nodded, mouth full of nachos. He was regretting asking for extra jalapeños, his tongue beginning to tingle. You, on the other hand, were smarter than him and stuck to a hotdog. As he swallowed, a tortilla chip scratched at his throat, leaving him coughing for a couple of seconds. “What, no joke about me being as old as the concept of drive-ins?”

“It's only a joke if you find it funny.”

“Who says I don't?”

“You've never laughed before at my jokes.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

The parking lot wasn't ridiculously busy. If Hongjoong had to, he would have guessed there was between ten to fifteen other cars apart from you two. A car to the left of his, four parking spaces between them, harboured what looked like two teenagers, one straddling the other's lap while they both took part in a dance of tongues and wandering hands.

Hongjoong believed their money would have been better spent on a motel room than the drive-in.

“What are we watching, anyway?” You piped up again after a while of comfortable silence, the radio softly playing a mix of early 2000s pop while you waited for the movie to play. He watched you sip from your cup, fingers drumming along to the beat coming through the speakers. Hongjoong liked it.

“Jurassic Park.”

“A movie about a group of prehistoric reptiles?” He'd expected the reaction you'd given him but that didn't make it any easier to suppress his smile at the sound of you laughing, cheeks puffed up from the stretch of your lips. “Isn't that based on your autobiography?”

Finally, he let laughter rip through his lungs, melodic waves of sound spreading in the small space of the vehicle. He was too lost in his own amusement to notice how your own laughter had died down or how you stared at him in content. Hongjoong really did look much better with a smile on his face, but you kept that thought to yourself out of fear of ruining the moment.

“Sorry Clyde, you just make it too easy for me.”

Once the movie started, the talking stopped, nothing but the sound of the characters pulsing through the speakers and the crunch of pop-corn. Your eyes hadn't left the screen once, sparkling a little with the bright reflection of the screen. Hongjoong, on the other hand, struggled to keep himself concentrated. His eyes were restless: watching the screen, watching you, watching the other cars, watching the sky, watching you, watching the pedals at his feet, watching you, watching you, watching you.

He craved your attention.

“Tell me something about you, Bonnie.” His whispered words had your eyes on him at last. You didn't seem bothered by the way he was interrupting the movie. Instead, you reached to turn down the radio.

“I hate the spelling of the word Wednesday.” You shifted yourself in your seat, leaning closer to him. His stomach turned at the smell of your perfume, lingering on his senses and threatening to get him hooked on it. “It's just so ugly looking, don't you agree?”

“Hmm...” Hongjoong had to spell it mentally, visualising all the times he'd written it in the corner of middle-school notebooks. “I get what you mean. It looks like it has more letters than it needs, kinda cramped?”

“Yes! Exactly! It's only got two e's but that somehow feels like too many.” Was he proud because he managed to relate to someone or because that someone was you? “Your turn, Clyde.”

“I hate the colour blue.”

“That's strange.” You didn't seem to be judging him, just commenting on it.

“You think?”

You hummed in approval, sipping the remnants of your drink. “Worldwide, that's the colour most people favour.”

“And yet the colour is associated with the feeling of sadness. Says more about everyone else than it does about me, wouldn't you agree?”

The radio was shortly turned back up. His eyes were more calm this time, only occasionally drifting over to where you were sat. Until he felt something drop against him. He found you, eyes shut by sleep.

You needed a place to rest your head and he let you have him, finding comfort in the weight of you on his shoulder.

Hongjoong couldn't stand hospitals.

They smelt like bleach coloured death and words left unsaid and fading heartbeats. The lights were too bright, like they were trying to mimic the light one sees at the end of the tunnel. Everything was used and touched and tainted by another person, yet things were presented as brand new and never used. For him, every inch of the building brought on a kaleidoscope of memories of the final months before his passing, before his mother was left spouseless and his older brother took over the role of man of the house, and Hongjoong turned to paint brushes and abstract emotions.

In his first ever therapy session- one he'd only attended at her request-, they'd quickly gotten on to the topic of his father. It wasn't a shock for him to realise his depressive days had began after his death, making him wonder why he was paying this stranger to tell him things he already knew.

Sighing, he brushed aside the unwanted memories and tightened his grip on the crutches, making his way out of the consultation office and back into the lobby, a prescription tucked into his back pocket. The pain in his ankle diminished slightly the second he caught sight of you, biting down on the tip of your pen and caught in a trance staring at your crossword. There was a strand of straw caught amongst your hair but you seemed none-the-wiser.

He pulled it out when he was close enough, smiling down at you sheepishly while you pushed the magazine to the side, eyes shooting down to his ankle.

“Well?” You asked expectantly.

“It's not broken.” You sighed in relief. “It just took some shock upon impact, so it's a little sensitive. Should heal up in a few days, but I've to come back if the pain worsens at any point.”

“So you won't be suing me for damages?”

“No!” He chuckled in disbelief. You'd stood yourself up and you both were now making your way through the lobby of the hospital. It was endearing to see you walk slower for him to keep up. “Why would I sue you, Bonnie?”

He'd started to use your false name more. Was it to stop himself from asking for your real one? To remind himself this wasn't real?

“You're hurt because of me! I knew horseback riding was too risky for your old bones, should've just taken you to the zoo like I originally planned.”

“I don't like zoos.” An elderly couple pointed towards you two as you passed them. Hongjoong wanted to know what they thought of you both. “Besides, I had fun today. Especially when your horse stopped to take a massive dump mid-way through the trail and then ate grass for about five minutes. Watching you struggle to get it moving again was the highlight of my week!”

“Oh haha, very funny. Starting to think you falling off your horse was just karma for enjoying my suffering.”

The sun was barely up anymore, hues of dark orange setting fire to the sky while the sun slowly disappeared for the day. Hongjoong wondered if you could feel the cold the same way he could. When you'd both met in the morning, it was much warmer and neither of you predicted you would still be together so late into the day.

“Did you get a hold of your friend?” Hongjoong shook his head at your question. He'd messaged Seonghwa after the doctor had given him the all clear, knowing that he wasn't capable of driving himself home.

“He's busy, stuck with his in-laws for the night.” He knew there were others he could have asked to help him, like the rest of the boys in the group chat. For some reason, he didn't want to.

“Then I guess you're just going to have to accept the fact I'm about to find out where you live, Clyde.”

“I'm sure I can live with that.”

The drive was relaxing. He let his eyes drop down and just enjoyed the humming of the engine, the classical music dancing out of the speakers, the sweet scent of you in the air. Every so often, his GPS would chime in and keep him from falling off the edge into sleep. If someone had told him weeks ago, dates back, that you would be driving toward his apartment, he would have cut contact with you straight away.

Right now, he wished you'd hurry up and step inside the four walls he called home.

“You must have a boring job.” The doors to the elevator shut slowly, a fact which Hongjoong had always hated about the building. It usually left him stuck having uncomfortable small talk with the older women in his building.

“Huh?”

“Boring jobs always pay the best.” You further elaborated. “To live in a place like this, you must get payed well.”

He'd never really thought about the paycheques he collected. For Hongjoong, his art wasn't a job. It was breathing, living, feeling. He often forgot it was also what payed his bills and funded his lifestyle. He supposed you were right, to an extent. He did get payed well, but his job was by no means boring. “I told you, I'm an accountant.”

He was glad to find his apartment clean, mentally noting to thank Seonghwa for tidying up for him last time he'd visited. He'd always been a clean freak but fatherhood seemed to have intensified it. You walked in after him, swinging the little white bag in sync with your steps, his medicine tossing around inside of it. Somewhere along the drive home, he remember the prescription in his pocket, prompting a sudden manhunt for an open pharmacy.

At your orders, Hongjoong dropped himself down onto the couch while you wandered into the kitchen, asking him where he kept his mugs and how he liked his coffee. Watching you struggle to open his monstrous size of a fridge, Hongjoong didn't hate the look of you in his safe space. You fit in quite well.

For the first time in years, he let himself be taken care of. You cooked up some kimchi stew, which you shared sat in his living room, laughing between bites at the cringey rom-com playing on the TV. You fluffed a cushion and helped him prop his foot up on the coffee table, wrapping it in a frozen bag of peas when you realized he had no ice. You poured him drink after drink, forced him to take his medicine, cleaned up the dishes you'd both used.

You kept him company.

“Tell me...” Hongjoong trailed off, deciding he didn't want to finish the sentence.

“Something about myself?” You finished it off, curling yourself further into his couch, legs pulled up to your chest and a mug of tea heating up your hands.

“No, actually.” You looked more surprised than he felt. “Tell me why you agreed to this.”

“You know, nobody really warns you about how lonely being an adult is.” Hongjoong wanted to scream out in agreement. He leaned closer to you instead, body language urging you to continue. “I always thought college would be wild nights and crazy parties and messy hook-ups. And it is but it's also stressful, difficult, isolating. There's times where I go days without speaking to my friends, ignoring their texts for no other reason than I'm so drained and conversations overwhelm me. When I do want to talk or see them, they're all too busy with their own lives, which I'm not angry about but hanging out isn't as easy as it was back when the only thing we had to worry about was having the dishes done by the time our parents came home. The feeling of being lonely took over the feeling of being alive somewhere along the way. I miss being busy with something other than responsibilities, I miss being hugged because I'm cared about and not because someone wants to cop a feel. I miss the feeling of company and understanding.”

Your word-vomit resonated with Hongjoong, the way you explained your feelings and your cravings mirroring things he'd been thinking for months. How would you react if he hugged you? He didn't want you to mistake it for pity. His arms stayed put.

“On the flipside, the intimacy of love is something I don't want. Which contradicts the things I do want, I know, but then I came across your profile. You sort of filled that hole and I didn't need to worry about the complications of relationships.” And now he was feeling guilty for his recent behaviour. You were strangers, that was the deal. “I guess that's why I agreed to it.”

The shame poured off you in waves, the realization of everything you'd just let out into the world hitting you like a truck. You took a few more drinks of your tea, the cup covering half your face.

“I needed a new muse.” Hongjoong thought it was only fair he shared his reason too. Another part of him, one he didn't want to acknowledge, wanted you to know about his past.

“I didn't know accountants needed muses.” You joked, choking a smile out of your saddened face.

“Yeah, well, let's just say this accountant has a side-job involving art.”

“What happened to your old muse? Did you outgrow them?”

“They outgrew me.” It had been so long since he'd had to tell this story to someone, he only hoped he could get it out without choking up. “Have you ever met someone and immediately realised you want them by your side till the day you die?” You looked at him, nodding your head affirmatively. “That was my ex. We met on campus. She was late to class and I accidentally spilt coffee all over her.”

“What a k-drama way of meeting.”

“Tell me about it. So anyway, we were together for three years. It was great, like living in some fantasy. We'd spend mornings sleeping, in the afternoon she'd drag me out to do something, no matter how much I wanted to stay home. And in the evening, she'd sit and I'd paint her. Until she started leaving in the morning, and coming home late, and girls nights out kept ending with her sleeping round her friends houses.”

“Clyde...” He wished you'd said his name with pity, not the meaningless name you'd anointed to him.

“But whatever, I thought nothing about it. We just moved on from the honeymoon phase, right? On our anniversary, I took her to her favourite restaurant, some fancy place covered in enough blue to make me nauseous. The whole night I felt like shit and just wanted to go home but she didn't even notice, eyes staring off at something behind me. It was during dessert that she broke the news of her pregnancy, the restaurant owner even appeared from behind me with a celebratory bottle of champagne for us.”

“Alcohol? Sounds exactly like what a pregnant lady needs.”

Hongjoong snorted back laughter, finding comedy in the fact you had no idea what was coming next. “So we start preparing for the baby, she even has me emptying out my studio room and turning it into a nursery.” He paused, blinking till his eyes had glassed over. “I never realized I was someone who wanted kids till she told me it wasn't mine. Five months along, after sitting with her through all the morning sickness, and holding her hand at the doctors, and massaging her swollen ankles every night, she finally decides she owes me the truth. And only because the real father finally stepped up and offered to take responsibility. Guess she preferred someone who owned a restaurant instead of someone who played with arts and craft supplies for a living.”

It was you who hugged him, carefully crossing the space between you both and wrapping your arms around his torso, hand rhythmically patting his back. He hesitated momentarily before letting his arms tangle themselves around you. The first thing he noted was how warm you felt, like soup on a cold day or hot chocolate on Christmas morning. The second thing was your perfume, different to any you'd worn before, one he swore smelt like tulips.

Hongjoong melted into you, forehead pressed against your shoulder and eyes shut, washing away the tears of self-pity. He sighed and took a breath, reminding himself of the breathing exercises he'd learn to calm himself down in moments of anguish. He was thankful you continued to hold him.

“Tell me something about you.” He said- no, begged. He needed the conversation to change. He needed you to be Bonnie and him to be Clyde, instead of Kim Hongjoong and a stranger he was growing attached to.

“Classical music reminds me of sex.” The way you made him laugh so easily wasn't helping his attachment. “Don't laugh! There's the soft beginning, which is like kissing. Then comes the gentle increase, the teasing moments of undressing. The build up, the foreplay. And then the crescendo is the climax. It's sex turned into music.”

“So, when you're trying to seduce a guy, what do you do? Put on some Beethoven and throw it back?”

“Don't make me poke your ankle!”

Neither of you moved back to your original positions, even after pulling away from the hug. You sat, face to face, talking over everything and nothing. For the first time, Hongjoong hadn't lied to you once, an achievement he found less scary than he would have a month ago. And you? You hadn't lied, necessarily, simply told a half-truth. Just one. 

It couldn't hurt, right?

When you'd succumbed to sleep on his shoulder, Hongjoong decided it was probably time for bed. If it weren't for his crutches, he would have carried you into his room, given up his bed in exchange for the couch. The best he could do was lay you down on a pillow and wrap you in a blanket, leaving the hallway light on in case you awoke startled in the night.

Hongjoong fell asleep wondering how much warmer the bed would've been with you beside him.

And he woke up to a scream.

Your scream.

Cursing after he forgot about his injury and stepped down onto his ankle, Hongjoong hobbled as quickly as he could over to his crutches, completely alert as he made his way out of his room, only to stumble onto the scene of the crime.

Your hair was messed up by sleep and your face was a little puffy while you held up your pillow defensively, facing the intruder who clearly was a threat to your life: Seonghwa with a baby strapped to his chest and an amused look on his face.

“Hongjoong! How nice of you to join us!”

Oh no. Oh no. His eyes shot to you, wide, seeing you processing just exactly what Seonghwa had said. It was too early in the morning for him to try and handle this smoothly.

“How did you get in here?” He decided to focus on his friend instead, hoping if he brushed it off enough you'd forget what you heard and keep seeing him as Clyde.

“The same way you did,” Seonghwa held up his hand, a set of keys in his grasp. “a key.” He'd forgotten all about the spare key he'd given to him. And the fact he had the worst timing. “Who's this, Joong?”

“That's...” The person I've been dating but not really dating for the past few months and it's starting to get complicated, and you aren't helping by saying my name. “my person.”

“Your person?” Seonghwa parroted, a dumbfounded look on his face. “You must be feeling better, you're starting to sound like a pretentious artist again.”

“Okay, what do you want? Why are you here?” If Hongjoong had found the courage to look at you, he'd have noticed the fondness in the way you watched the two men interact.

“I forget you're not a morning person. Why was your person sleeping on the couch? Trouble in paradise?” His questions were followed up by Seonghwa slowly sitting himself down on the couch, hand cradling his son's head to his chest.

“I fell asleep on the couch while we were watching a movie.” Hongjoong had never been happier to hear you speak. “Cl- Hongjoong couldn't move me because of his crutches. Paradise is still very much good, thanks.”

Seonghwa stared past him, right at you, eyes narrowing into a calculative glare. “I like you.”

“I'm flattered. But I need to leave, got work in a couple hours.”

“Let me walk you- actually, hobble you to the door.” Hongjoong was quick, following you over to the front door and, most importantly, out of Seonghwa's hearing range. “Thanks, for last night.”

“No problem. Don't forget to take your meds." You smiled, hand patting the top of his arm. He wanted to feel what it was like to hug you again. “See you next Saturday, Clyde.”

The dopiest of smiles rested on his face, only faltering when he returned to the living room and found a knowing look on Seonghwa's face.

“Oh, shut up!” He exclaimed, throwing himself down next to him on the couch.

“I didn't say anything!”

The whistle of the boiled kettle interrupted Hongjoong’s actions, as if to stop him from making a mistake. He shoved the burner phone back into his pocket, tending to his fourth coffee of the day. The clock had barely passed eleven am. 

Making his way back into the studio, a smile lit up his face instantly at the sight of his work in progress. The canvas was more than half-way done at this point, he’d finally reached his favourite part of any piece: the details. He loved to play with the shading, the swirls of different colours and the specs of different textures. 

The whole experience of working on this last painting had sent him down a trip of nostalgic memories, some good and some bad. By far, his favourite was the memory of the opening day of his first exhibit. He could remember swelling with pride when a little boy, no taller than the height of his knees, reached out to put his hands on a canvas. Even though the mother had scolded her son, Hongjoong enjoyed the way he was touching his art, experiencing it with all his senses.

Two sips into his coffee and his mobile buzzed. Hongjoong was disappointed it wasn’t the chunky one in his pocket, but his newer model thrown somewhere behind him on the old couch.

[11:27 am] ddeonghwa: don’t forget to bring the supplies for saturday or chaeyoung will kill both of us.

Hongjoong had never been so happy to receive a text from his friend, who was completely unaware of the excuse he’d just created for him, the window of opportunity he’d opened.

to: bonnie are you busy?

Your reply was instant, making Hongjoong less embarrassed to be messaging you.

from: bonnie if staring at my notes and pretending to study is busy, then yes.

to: bonnie you could do that anywhere, technically. 

from: bonnie i could.

to: bonnie i’ve heard art stimulates people’s brains.

from: bonnie everything stimulates the brain.

to: bonnie shut up and come over, i have mango tea.

from: bonnie you should’ve opened with that, i’d be there by now.

You’d arrived in no time, quenching the deep desire he’d had to see you. It appeared two hours after you’d left on Saturday and made itself at home in Hongjoong’s brain, eating away at his conscious and begging him to message you, to think about you on days that weren’t a Saturday. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” You asked him for the third time since you’d arrived. Your textbook lay in front of you on the kitchen island but your eyes were busy watching him struggle to make your tea. “You do realize it’s only Wednesday, right? Or has dementia finally caught a hold of your brain?”

“Careful or I might accidentally use salt instead of sugar.”

You ended up taking over, making your own drink. You didn’t mind, it gave you an excuse to shut your book and stand next to him. He looked cute in his paint splattered shirt and his iron man socks. His hair was messier than you’d seen before, looking soft to touch and like it smelled of high-end shampoo. 

“I’m busy on Saturday, but I didn’t want to deprive you of your weekly company.” 

“Busy? On a Saturday?!” The exclamation in your voice was exaggerated, you both knew that. You bumped your hip into his, careful to not knock the hand that was pouring hot water into his cup of coffee. “Here I thought Saturdays were something reserved just for me.”

He hated that fact more than anything, that it was only Saturdays.

Conversation came easy between you both as you drank your warm beverages, him perched on the counter and you on one of the bar stools. You told him about upcoming exams and he told you about the recent exhibit he’d been working on. You shared the story of some guy in class who’d accidentally taken ecstasy and Hongjoong exposed the story of how Yunho had once thought he was buying cocaine in college but it was just a bag of crushed chalk. 

“Can I see your studio?” You asked, dropping your empty mug into the kitchen sink. 

“Let me just...” Hongjoong was surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. His studio was his sanctuary. He could count on one hand the number of people he willingly allowed in there: himself, Seonghwa and Mingi once (by accident). Yet here he was, not even thinking over the choice of letting you see it. He just wanted external validation, that was all. Someone not in his immediate friend group. “clean up quickly.”

Which he did, shoving used tissue into a plastic bag, moving his dirty palette and used brushes to the sink he kept in there, turning the canvas that carried his final piece the other way, not ready for you to see it. Only once things seemed semi presentable did he call you in.

“So you’re like, the real deal?” You finally spoke for the first time since entering, eyes not sure what you wanted to stare at more. The room was so colourful, as if it contained all of Hongjoong’s personality.

“I guess? Yeah.” He’d never felt so sheepish, hands shoved in his pockets and mind racing with every worry under the sun. 

“What’s your most recent work then?”

“Oh, no no, that’s not ready for your prying eyes to see.” You groaned in frustration and he just laughed. An idea struck him, one he shouldn’t have had but there was no getting rid of it now. “I can paint you something right now though, if you want.” 

You nodded eagerly, eyes lit up in excitement. The look didn’t even fade when Hongjoong warned you it would take a few hours. “Talent can’t be rushed, I know.”

“Okay, take your top off.” You raised your eyebrows at him, a questioning look across your face. “Don’t look at me like that. Take it off and lay on the couch, on your front. You’re going to be my canvas.”

Hongjoong turned his back on you, giving you the privacy you need to undress yourself.  “That’s me done.” Your voice was muffled slightly by the leather cushion but he understood you. 

He gathered what he needed: the brushes, the paint, the sponges, the small basin of water. Setting it up next to the couch, he cleared is throat before straddling his legs over either side of you, refusing to let himself sink down completely. He wiped your back down slowly, ignoring the way you moved beneath him with every breath. 

“This might be cold.” Was his only warning before giving the first stroke of his brush. Just like he expected, you gasped beneath him, a series of inappropriate thoughts shooting through his mind. You quickly relaxed, eyes shutting while Hongjoong slowly spread the base colour over your skin.

At some point, he reached for a remote and flicked on the radio, soft music playing out and encompassing the feeling around you both. You giggled beneath him, squirming against his body and slowly killing his resolve. Hongjoong wanted to blame the paint fumes on the high he was feeling. 

“Sorry,” He heard you huff out lazily, eyes barely open. “it just tickles.”

“It’s fine.” He lied. “I used to do this with her.”

“Yeah?” You knew him so well, already aware of who he was speaking about.

“She was always impatient, rushing me to finish. It usually messed up my work.”

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, not quite understanding the smile he carried on his lips while talking about her. “she was the worst.”

By the time Hongjoong had finished, the sun had set and hours had passed. You’d drifted somewhere between sleeping and talking to him the whole time, the music keeping him company in the moments you closed your eyes. 

“Could you take a picture?” You whispered after he announced he’d finished, eyes slowly opening to readjust to the light. “My phone’s in my back pocket.”

So that’s what had been poking against him. Hongjoong was greeted by the picture of a cat, small and grey, displayed on your lockscreen. He now knew you hadn’t lied about owning one. 

His fingers worked quickly to snap a picture, body needing to remove himself from yours. He didn’t like how tight his trousers had become, the way you’d sighed and gasped and squirmed beneath him having done something to his head. He leaned over you, hands holding his weight up and off of the drying paint on your back, holding your phone out for you to see. 

“You’re...” Your words caught in your throat, eyes darting back and forth between the screen and his face. On your naked back lay a colourful field of flowers, the shadows of two people standing face to face, heads haloed by the sun. “insane.”

Maybe it was the way you were staring at his work or the way you smelt up close or the hours of growing tension in his body, but Hongjoong lost himself in the moment, lips diving down to claim your own against his. You reciprocated immediately, head angled uncomfortably to the side just to kiss him deeper.

He was glad to let you slip your tongue into him, tasting him, drinking him in while his arms gave out and he dropped down onto your back. Neither of you cared for the smudging paint between you and his shirt. He trailed his lips down your neck, breathing heavy when he felt you grind up against him, eyes rolling back as he began to match your hips with his own. 

You whined when he sat up, causing him to giggle and work at pulling his shirt off quicker, throwing it somewhere into the room. He didn’t care to watch it land on a pile of acrylic paint, too busy pressing himself back down to you, the cool paint making his nipples stand to attention and his hands sneaking under you to cup your chest, fingers tweaking at your nipples and dragging the sweetest of noises out of you. 

“Is this okay?” He mumbled between kisses along your shoulder, hands now down at the hem of your jeans, teasingly dipping under and threatening to pull them off. He just needed your consent first, to hear you wanted this as much as he did. 

“No,” Your breathing had begun to labour, chest stuttering over an inhalation. “there’s too much clothes on. Hurry up.”

He followed your command, hands dragging your jeans off with your help before your underwear followed, after he pinged the elastic onto your skin and laughed when you called him dumb. His shaky hands quickly worked at removing the rest of his own clothing. If he moved fast enough, there’d be no time to question if you two should have been doing this. 

Hongjoong was tired of thinking.

Once he was freed of the confines of clothing, cock hard against his stomach, Hongjoong spat onto his hands, grabbing himself by the base and spreading it over his shaft, lubricating his cock while you watched him from over your shoulder, your hips grinding down on the sofa, mouth agape at the little pleasure you were getting. 

When his eyes met yours, it was the last bit of encouragement he needed to align himself with your entrance, hand splayed out on your lower back while the other angled your hips up. Pushing his cock into your tightness left him feeling warmer than any hug ever could.

A few moments of stillness, and then he began to thrust, lighting both of your nerves on fire with pleasure. The music began to build gradually over the radio, in time with your rising heartbeat and racing breaths.

You began meeting his thrusts, hands trying to grip at the tattered leather under them while the sweat dripped down your back, colourful trails running down your sides and on to the couch. Hongjoong had never loved the sight of his own art so much, picking up the speed at which he pistoned his hips into yours, skin clapping against skin in time with the symphony playing over the stereo. 

The space between you became too much for Hongjoong. He needed you closer, till you were breathing the same air. Fingers tangled in your hair, he pulled you up to rest on your knees, your back meeting his chest and your face resting inches away from his own. It drove him wild to hear you moan, to see the way your eyes were hooded and your mouth failed to shut. He got cocky, shoving his fingers into your open mouth, eyes rolling back when your lips wrapped around his digits, tongue swirling over them. 

“You imagining that’s my cock in your mouth, doll?” He threw his head back when you moaned, mouth and hole stuffed full of him. 

He removed his fingers, dragging a trail of your saliva down till he found your nipples once more, covering you in your own fluids. You rocked back against him, taking his length deeper than before. His lips reattached to your neck, needing a way to filter out the string of lewd things he wanted to say.

“Clyde!” You cried out, hand shooting back to tangle itself in his hair, tugging on it and rousing a groan from his chest.

“Don’t call me that.” The music grew with his thrusts, the intensity bouncing off of the walls. “Please.”

“Hongjoong!” You corrected yourself and his hips stuttered, feeling you clench down on him in a vice grip, your orgasm washing over you without a warning. 

He fucked you through it, willing himself to hold on a little longer. The music and him reached their crescendo in sync, Hongjoong pulling out watching the thick ropes of his seed paint your back for the second time that evening, mixing in with the shades of colour you were both covered in by now.

That night, Hongjoong found out just how much warmer his bed was with you in it.

And how you looked first thing in the morning, fingers tangled with his own and a leg thrown over his hip, welcoming in every thrust he brought upon you, starting your days off in bliss. By noon, you dragged him out of bed, both your stomachs growling for food.

He left you to cook the bacon, laughing when you smacked his pyjama covered ass as he skirted past you to grab the eggs from his fridge. After cracking them into the pan next to the bacon, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest and nuzzling his head in your neck. You smelled like his shampoo, the shirt on your back tainting you in his cologne.

“Tell me something about you.” He peppered kisses over your neck, only to hear you laugh at how his hair tickled you.

“I like the deal we have.”

“Me too.”

You both lied but your lips met before either of you could call the other out on it, bacon sizzling below. His fingers met the hem of your shirt- his shirt, really-, inching it up slowly. He couldn’t recognise the man he’d become, hungry for your affection and desperately in need of you against him.

“What kind of porno have I walked into?”

You both jumped apart, eyes wide as you came face to face with none other than Park Seonghwa, who’s hands were shielding his eyes.

Hongjoong needed to take the spare key off of him. 

“Don’t you ever knock?” Hongjoong groaned in frustration, watching how you diverted your attention back to the breakfast you’d been cooking. 

“You knew I was coming over!” Seonghwa sat at the island, watching you in amusement while Hongjoong wished he’d go away. “Remember? You’re coming with me to make sure Wooyoung doesn’t try buy my daughter something inappropriate. It was bad enough he bought a bib with bros before hoes written across it for little Minho’s baby shower last year.”

You laughed, switching the stove off once the food was done and turned around to face them both. “Wooyoung sounds fun.”

“Yeah, till you meet him and realise he’s an adult who hasn’t grown out of his frat-boy phase.” Did Hongjoong feel a flash of green at the prospect of you finding Wooyoung fun? No, not at all, why would he care what you thought?

“Speaking of meeting that cretin, you should come to my daughter’s birthday party this Saturday. She’s two, so the party is just an excuse for a bunch of parents to get drunk while their kids make a mess of my back garden.” Seonghwa had been nagging Hongjoong since he’d met you last weekend to invite you to the party, and each time Hongjoong had said no. It seemed he’d decided to take matters into his own hands. “I never caught your name, by the way.”

“Uh...” Your eyes skirted over to Hongjoong. He just hoped you wouldn’t say Bonnie. Not after everything that happened in the last twenty four hours. “Y/N. That’s my... uh, name. Yeah.”

“Okay Y/N, I’ll make sure your boyfriend here brings you along to the party. Though, you might want to wear more than just his shirt, Wooyoung kinda has a thing for legs.”

Hongjoong held back from swearing, nearly tripping over the toddler that had just ran past his feet. 

The party was full, more children than adults and only a few poor sober, breastfeeding mothers stuck with the responsibility of taking care of them. Everyone else had been more than happy to indulge in the drinks Chaeyoung and Seonghwa had provided, the prior just excited to have her first drink since bringing the couple’s six month old son into the world.

He was glad to have you by his side. At the Park’s first birthday party for their daughter, Sodam, Hongjoong was fresh out of a break up and dealing with the looks of pity and apologetic words from his and the couple’s friends alike. It felt good to have them all keen to know how he’d met you, how long you’d been together, what plans you had, even if everything you two said was a lie. 

Yunho and Mingi had been made to believe the two of you met in a grocery store, while you were buying a bottle of rosé and him some celery. You’d insisted on coming up with that story, laughing for reasons Hongjoong couldn’t quite understand. San and his fiancé had been told it was in a museum, you a tour guide who’d been corrected by Hongjoong on some fact about Picasso. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho and his girlfriend were recounted the story of how you’d been a fan of him since his first exhibit, and were incapable of not approaching him when you spotted him in a coffee shop.

He now stood at a distance, Chaeyoung’s orders that he leave you alone for some time. Which apparently meant Chaeyoung, San’s fiancé and Jongho’s girlfriend giggling at everything you said. It warmed his heart to see you gain their approval, knowing they cared for him like a brother. The whole day had made him realise how much he had, more friends than he gave himself credit, more reasons to smile than he’d believed.

“You’re a lucky man.”

Hongjoong nearly jumped out of his own skin, turning around to come face to face with Chaeyoung’s co-worker. Hyeri! That was her name! “Huh? Oh, yeah, I am.”

“It’s nice to see you with someone,” She still had that smile on her face, just like she’d had on their date. Hongjoong no longer envied her because of it. “you seem more like the guy Seonghwa told me about.”

Her words meant everything to him. Hongjoong really did feel like himself again, no longer the empty shell. Sure, he still had a long way to go before he was fully there but, for now, he could accept no longer stopping himself from wearing colour and asking for milk in his coffee. “What about you? Anyone trying to sweep you off your feet?”

“Oh no, not for me. Though, your friend Wooyoung did try shoot his shot.” That sounded about right.

He was about to answer when his eyes drifted back over to you, where he found one of Seonghwa’s famous homemade cupcakes in your hand, moments away from taking your first bite. He excused himself quickly and hurried over, ripping the treat from your grasp and dropping it back onto the table, ignoring the look Chaeyoung was shooting his way and your protests.

Clearly no one had warned you about the special ingredient. “You can’t eat that, it’s full of strawberry jam.”

You stuck to the chocolate cookies for the rest of the night.

Come nine o’clock, the children had all crashed down from their sugar high and guests began to leave, Seonghwa waving you two off from the door. He’d nearly invited you to Hongjoong’s exhibition in two weeks but, fortunately, he understood the artist’s widened eyes and shaking head.

Hongjoong wanted to ask you privately, in his own time.

“It’s not quite your apartment but,” You moved aside, welcoming a tipsy Hongjoong into your home. “it’s enough for me.”

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye so early in the evening, convincing you to take him back to your place. You lived closer to Seonghwa, anyway. It made sense, right? Hongjoong was just thinking logically when he’d let you lead him to your door, hand intertwined in his, an occasional brush of his lips against your knuckles when he’d cover his drunken giggles with your hands.

Your apartment was much smaller than his, but it didn’t mean anything to him. He liked the way little details about you decorated the place, magazines and books and candles littered in odd places. He enjoyed being trusted into your safe space, knowing how difficult of a thing it was for him to do with people, with strangers. Were you two still strangers?

“Sorry, I need to go drop something off to my neighbour. They keep delivering her mail to me for some reason.” You announced after a while of sitting next to him on the couch, not doing much yet filling Hongjoong’s heart with joy. He pulled you into his kiss for the first time all day, hand cupping your cheek while his lips begged you to do it later, to stay with him right now. “I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Feel free to snoop around if you get bored.”

He originally wasn’t going to do as you said, telling himself he wasn’t so childish as to look through someone’s things. But, you had given him permission. And he was bored, alcohol hitting him harder than ever and demanding he stand up and move. So he filtered through your book case, laughing at the few romance novels you had, raising his eyebrows at the untouched copy of 50 Shades Of Grey. He imagined it was a gag gift, no pun intended. 

His hands picked up some of your textbooks, finding he quite liked your handwriting. It was a neat mess. And, from the writings on the pages, he gathered you were majoring in something like psychology, a lot of big words and talk of cognitive behaviour. He flicked to the more recent notes you’d made,

His heart dropped to his stomach.

“Okay, I’m back. Jeez that woman can talk, she kept trying to invite...” You stumbled back through the door, freezing in your tracks. Your eyes flickered between Hongjoong’s frown and the notebook in his hand. “Hongjoong...”

“What is this about?” His voice was eerily calm, that feeling of euphoria laced tipsiness long gone. 

“What do you mean?”

“Date one: the subject seems boring, like he lacks his own personality. He relies on facts and big words to get him by. Maybe he’s a narcissist? I’m not quite sure yet, but it certainly must take a level of arrogance to put yourself on a dating site, you need to rely on your looks to seem intriguing.” Hongjoong spat your own notes out at you, hand clenching the paper with the grip he had. “Date two: he’s more stiff than a plank of wood. I accidentally brushed my hand against him while we grabbed at the clay and he froze up completely. Do i need to keep going?”

“No, I understand.” You cleared your throat, nervous and unsure of what to do. You’d never seen him angry. “And I know how it looks-”

“Know how it looks?! Yeah, it looks like you were studying me like some lab rat.” He snapped, slapping the offensive notebook down onto your coffee table. “Is this what you’ve been using our dates for? Some sick, twisted study?”

“Yes- No! It’s more complicated than that! It’s not like I could even use those notes in my thesis! It would be unethical, since you didn’t know about it.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? That makes everything better, come let’s sit and talk about how you psychoanalyzed me!” His voice had begun to raise, not yelling but certainly not the soft tone he addressed you with. If only he flicked a few more pages, he’d have noticed how you’d stopped taking notes after the third date. “God, you’re such a liar, feeding me that bullshit about being lonely. Were you just telling me what I wanted to hear?”

“That wasn’t a lie!” You insisted, wanting to move closer but fearing it wasn’t what he wanted right now. “It was just some meaningless study on dating apps, okay? You weren’t going to be featured in it. I even changed my thesis subject weeks ago, just look for yourself!”

“If you think that makes me feel better, you’re dumber than I thought.” It stung to hear those words come from Hongjoong, your sad eyes only making him madder. How dare you be sad, as if he were the one who had wronged you, lied to you. “You’re just like her, you know? Full of shit.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re any better than me!” The frustration of his accusations and his ruthless words brought forth the anger in you. “Standing there like you haven’t been using me as some replacement for your ex. Newsflash! She’s moved on. She moved on before you even ended things, so why don’t you do the same?”

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he sighed. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing himself to not blow his last fuse. When he reopened his eyes, his hands grabbed his jacket off of the couch and he marched past you, ripping the door open. 

“Where are you going?” You called after him.

“Somewhere I don’t need to worry about being a test subject.”

As he slammed the door shut, he heard you yell after him: “See you next Saturday.”

Only, you never did see each other that day.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hongjoong had been zoning in and out from the conversation all morning, mind adrift somewhere else. He needed sleep, but all he had was lacklustre coffee and a headache. “Sorry, not been sleeping well.”

“Pre-exhibition jitters?” The woman, Mrs. Kwon, asked him from across the table, smiling politely. She was the art gallery’s director and she’d more or less overseen the entire process of preparing Hongjoong’s upcoming event.

“Something like that.”

“That’s understandable, I once had an artist burst into tears and beg that the whole event be cancelled... five minutes before the opening!” She laughed and Hongjoong tried to mimic it as earnestly as possible, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m sure your agent, Seonghwa, has briefed you on everything but I’d like to just go over it again to make sure everything is perfect come Saturday.”

Hongjoong zoned out again, drowning out the woman’s voice. He could always ask Seonghwa to change something if he changed his mind last minute. If there was one thing he had to commend that man for, it was his powers of persuasion. Just four days after the birthday party, he’d coaxed the truth out of Hongjoong. The whole truth.

While she rambled on about opening hours and the placements for each piece, Hongjoong’s eyes drifted over to the counter, a queue of people waiting to grab their order. His throat went dry as his eyes met a familiar pair, which stared back at him empty and unfeeling, like when he stared in the mirror.

He willed himself to ignore it, to turn back and pay attention to the woman in front of him. It worked for a few minutes before he heard the bell above the door ring, turning just in time to see your retreating form. He dashed out of his seat, ignoring Mrs. Kwon calling his name and pushed himself out the door. 

“Y/N!” He called out after you, stopping behind you when you whipped around to face him. It hurt to see your eyes hadn’t changed from the cafe. “It’s not what you think-”

“What I think doesn’t matter.” You refused to meet his stare, cheek turned to him while you stared through the window of the cafe, at his empty chair and the beautiful woman waiting for him to return. “And whatever it is, it’s none of my business. We’re nothing, we never have been. Now, if you’ll allow me, I have to get to class. My test subjects are awaiting me.”

“Y/N.” He tried reaching for your hand, begging you with the call of your name to wait, to let him talk. 

“Stop calling me that! We don’t call each other by real names, remember? That was the deal.”

“I think we crossed the boundaries of our deal long ago.”

“Well I’m cancelling it all together, officially.” You readjusted the strap of your bag, taking a step back. “Goodbye, Clyde.”

Hongjoong had forgotten how cold the air felt against his neck. 

He’d been unsure of the drastic change, up until the moment Yeosang had snipped off the first few strands of hair. The mullet was gone and, in it’s place, blonde hair paired with an undercut sat. When he’d woken up that morning, lazily running his fingers through his hair, he decided he quite liked the shorter, neater style.

All day, he’d received compliments on his looks, those who had attended his first exhibit noting how much he’d grown in the few years since and newer fans of his work claiming they’d had no idea he was so young. He liked that they expected someone older, it made him feel more solidified in the art world, like his work came across as mature and well-nurtured.

His speech was short, thanking those he had to before quickly handing the microphone over to Seonghwa, who was always a charmer with crowds. He had them all laughing in no time, recounting the horrors of dealing with Hongjoong as a client.

Finally, for the first moment all day, Hongjoong found a pocket of silence for himself, managing to drift away from the crowds of people and the flutes of champagne that had started to make him feel a little sick. He stood alone, staring at the last part of his collection. 

He was proud of his work, no matter the bittersweet story it told. 

Every piece in his collection chronicled the past two years of his life, starting from the moment his relationship had began to fall apart, carrying through the months of misery, the loneliness, the acceptance, the moving on. It was his visual presentation of the stages of grieving a relationship, the final part being the most important. 

Because he had to move. He had to keep living, for no one but himself.

He had moved on. 

He knew it from the way he no longer avoided old pictures of her, from the way he could think about her and feel nothing. Not even the anger remained. She wasn’t worth the energy he’d spent so long wasting on her.

“This one doesn’t make me sad.” Hongjoong’s silence was interrupted. 

He could feel you standing next to him, staring at the same art he was. He never bothered turning his head to look at you, he saw you behind his eyelids every time he blinked. 

“How come?” 

“It’s reminds me of self-love.”

The face in the painting was much like his own, spare for a few details. One half was littered in shades of blue and grey, rose thorns stabbing at his skin while dead flowers and sharp twigs replaces what should’ve been his eyes. The other half was colourful, bright, smiling with vines wrapped around it and blossoming tulips on his lips, eyes peacefully closed. 

He sighed, turning to look at you at last. You copied him, eyes not like the last time he’d seen you. You looked pensive, nervous, like you were shy to be in his company.

“I hope you know how sorry I am.” He said, wishing there was someway to tell you he wanted to touch you without having to actually say it.

He just wanted to know you were real.

“I do.” You nodded, lips pursing together. “Just like you know how sorry I am too. I should’ve been honest with you that night. It would’ve saved a lot of trouble.”

He couldn’t disagree with you. If you’d told him, the two of you wouldn’t have fought that night. He would’ve invited you to his exhibition and would’ve returned into your waiting arms after his speech. But things didn’t always go the way people planned.

He was learning to be okay with that.

“How did you know?” He stared down at your hands, fingers rubbing together as he contemplated reaching for one. “About today, I mean.”

“Seonghwa is really good at guilt tripping people.” He laughed, knowing fine well what you meant. He needed to thank Seonghwa for whatever he’d said.

Your gazes both returned to the painting, the distant chatting of approaching people buzzing around you. 

“Are you free next Saturday, Bonnie?” His heart was in his hand, waiting and begging for you to lay claim on it.

“No.”

He sighed in defeat.

Your hand tugged at his own, intertwining your fingers.

“I’m afraid I’ll be spending it with Kim Hongjoong, sorry.”

Seonghwa was calling him.

Hongjoong hit decline.

The man was only calling for two reasons: to panic talk all about Hongjoong’s fourth exhibit- that was still months away and by no means something that needed worrying about- or to ask him if he’d done it yet.

Both were conversations he wasn’t in the mood for.

His eyes only left your sleeping form to stare down at the sketching pad in his hand, graphite shading and soft lines making up the form of his muse, Chopin playing gently as background noise to his scribbling and your breathing.

As he bent down to grasp his mug of coffee, the weight of the little box dragged the inside of his sweatpants pocket down, a reminder of the question he'd been meaning to ask you.

There was no rush, you were enjoying your rest.

Hongjoong could wait a few more hours.

[crocojagged]

So this is a post that has been building in my head in some form since the release of Crocoduel, and there's been a lot of changes in my thoughts since then. I don't really have a final answer to what all of this means, but I realized that if I don't post this before the season finale inevitably proves all of this wrong it will never get posted, so without further ado here is the theory:

We'll start with the movie scene in Queen Banana. There's Destroika and Kreatika. Red and Green. Mylene and Zoe. At first this combination seem odd. The colors aren't matched to the colors we usually associate with the miraculous of creation and destruction of course, but the casting is also weird. I would think that Zoe and Adrien share a lot of similarities as do Marinette and Mylene, yet they are playing the opposite roles in the film. Then I noticed something really interesting.

Marinette and Zoe have the exact same eye color. Now Adrien and Mylene definitely do not have the same eye color, but you know who does?

Chat Noir and Polymouse.

Looking closely we can see Chat Noir's irises are slightly more yellow than Adrien's, and this is the same shade of green eyes that Polymouse has.

Marinette and Zoe's eyes matching is weird enough on its own, but Chat Noir and Polymouse's eye color changing to be the same color is too much for this to not be an intentional detail. I think figuring out what it means will be very key to decoding the movie scene of Queen Banana.

This is the part where we get to talk about the yin yang symbol. I think most people already know about how Marinette and Adrien's outfits correspond to yin and yang, or the symbol being in the old miracle box. But I want to point out the dots of the symbol. They represent how yin exists within yang and vice versa. What I find interesting about this is that these dots are sometimes referred to as "the eyes of the fishes," and that in the miracle box the ladybug miraculous is placed on the yang dot within yin whereas the black cat miraculous is placed on the yin dot within yang.

I very much think that the eyes of these 4 characters could be related to this symbolism. Marinette appears yin, but her eyes are yang, and Ladybug is yang. Likewise, Adrien appears yang, but his eyes are yin, and Chat Noir is yin. (Also I guess this means Chat Blanc is yang?? conversation for another time).

Zoe and Mylene in the film represent creation and destruction in conflict. I would say that Zoe has too much yang (Marinette's eyes and Adrien's life) while Mylene has too much yin (Chat Noir's eyes and Marinette's life), and this is what caused the imbalance and their fight. And I think pairing red with destruction and green with creation also relates to this. How it's never fully one thing, there's always layers upon layers of complexity to everything.

If you've gotten this far you might be wondering what any of this has to do with Crocoduel. Because of how long this post is getting I'm gonna put all of that under the cut.

I think that based on their appearances in Desperada and Crocoduel, Jagged and Anarka's relationship represents how things with Ladynoir could go wrong, and it could even be foreshadowing for what happens in the future. This has already been lampshaded by them in Crocoduel:

This is another instance kind of like Zoe and Mylene. Initially, I would think of Jagged as corresponding to Marinette (lots of interactions where she's helped him before) and Anarka as corresponding to Adrien (anarchy→chaos→destruction). But their color palettes on the Crocoduo album cover indicate the opposite.

There is some interesting dialogue between the two that I think I could be significant, especially given Ladybug's promise to Chat Noir that she'll never abandon him in Hack-San and Adrien supposedly leaving Paris in the finale:

Anarka: How dare you come here and give my son the album that caused our break-up?!

Jagged: "Caused our break-up"?? You mean the album to help me get my life back after you left me!

A: You got a lot of nerve, pirate! You were the one who left me!

J: No, you were!!

Contrast that with what was said in Desperada:

J: She sailed away from me, she left me in the lurch.

...

A: I knew you were lying. Vivica didn't leave you. You dropped her just like you would drop me before!

Another bonus detail I noticed during all of this is that Marinette's kwagatama matches with the modern symbol that we also see represented by the miracle box. But Mylene's necklace has a slightly different shape, and then I came across this older version of the symbol that seems to fit pretty well. Perhaps this indicates that Mylene got hers from an ancestor that lived very long ago?

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[taketwoinink]

84 years??? Wow Crystal, you're

you thought you were safe on tumblr but you're never safe

thanks for the tag and on to the questions!

Do you play an instrument? - I do!!! I played the violin for 6 (or 7, I don't remember) years. I haven't touched it in a while because I left the orchestra group I was in. Also, I broke my G string and replacing that costs money and I am a broke potato. And my tuning pegs desperately need replacing because they are fickle beasts. So currently, the violin sits unused until I have money to spare on fixing it up. I have to admit, I'm actually a decent violinist! Never got the hang of vibrato but one day! - I also play the kalimba! I am very bare basics beginner and I forgot to practice all the time, but it's such a gorgeous instrument (and much lower maintenance than a violin is) - I also own a ukulele (thanks to Kit who gave me it!) that I can't play because I cannot for the life of me figure out how to strum without tearing up my fingers - I also have a steel tongue drum! That I don't know how to play yet. - Ocarina! (I figured out how to blow into it and make a decent sound, but that's as far as we've gotten). One day, I'll master them all and everyone will bow before my musical prowess.

Favorite book character? - I... I haven't read a book in so long *cries* (unless you count graphic novels and audio books, which I do not) - If I can cheat and say a TV show character though, then Adrien from Miraculous (Felix and Chloe are close seconds).

What’s your star sign? - Sagittarius but I disowned my star sign. We don't get along Favourite colour schemes? - almost forgot to answer this one! I love purple with black, I love light gray with white, I love green with black (bet you can't guess why), uhhh anything that's dark but colorful accents I like. Earth tones can be really fun when they're done right. Did I mention purple? I love purple. Oh oh and orange and pink. Like sunset, peach shades. Love them! And yellow and white when it's like elegant and light, very pretty. Colours are just amazing actually. I love colours!

Naps or long sleep? - In an ideal world, long sleep. But, my world is far from ideal so I am a very big fan of napping. Took one today actually (was not as restful as I'd hoped)

What languages do you speak? - If we're talking in terms of fluency, then I speak some pretty good gibberish! (I'm a native English speaker). I took German for... four years, question mark? But all I can do is call you a potato or order five pizzas soooo...

Dreams/aspirations? - SO MANY! SO MANY! Ahhhh I wanna go out and live life and live it to the fullest! I want to become a silversmith, I want to amass hundreds of written fics on AO3 (and I want at least one of them to become well renowned), I want to meet my tumblr friends in person, I want to climb a tall mountain so I can say that I did, I want to confuse everyone who sees me because they can't tell what gender I am, I want to write my stories in a coffee shop, I want to make original music, I want to learn how to sing so I can belt Defying Gravity without sounding like a toad, I want to have the most aesthetic cozy happy house, I want to be happy, I want to make art commissions for people, I want to visit as many different countries as I can, I want to be satisfied with each day that I'm living even the quiet ones, I want to take public transport to work every day, I want to smile at everyone I meet, I want to be a supportive adult figure one day for queer kids like me who didn't find the love they needed at home, I want to be able to say I love myself every day and not hesitate and mean it every time, I want to run through a meadow screaming at the top of my lungs, I want to dance like no one is watching, I want to learn to make flower crowns, I want to make my own cosplay costumes and attend fan events, I want to learn sign language, I want to have the coolest decorated house on Halloween, I want to be Fae's roommate, I also want to be Kit's roommate, I want to make an acrylic painting that is just so beautiful, I want a handpan, I want to get really good at all my instruments, I want to do my laundry consistently instead of all at the last minute, I want to have a platonic 'wedding' that's just an excuse to have a great big wedding-like party and I want everyone to wear fantasy clothes and it'll be outside and we'll sword fight with pool noodles, AND I WANT TO PET EVERY DOGGO (and kitty!!) THAT I EVER SEE - I could keep going xD - Basically, life is beautiful and full of opportunities and I want to live it!

Long hair or short hair? - Short. But also having long hair with a drastic undercut sounds amazing. But also- short hair and slaying right now

Tea or coffee? - So, I don't drink caffeine for a variety of reasons but I do drink herbal tea! I love me some tea with lots of honey even though I don't like honey all that much. It's so aesthetic. And delicious. And the fact that tea kettles scream at you when your water is done will never cease to delight me

Bring a book character to life or go into the fictional world? - Go to a fictional world, unless I couldn't come back to this one. Because like Crystal said, I'd love to have an adventure, but also I'm kind of attached to Earth? I like so many people and things here. And bringing a book character to life would be epic, but I also wouldn't want to drag them away from everything they knew and leave them in a life that isn't theirs with no one that they knew or loved from their story.... I made this question depressing, oops. tagging! @quodekash @generalluxun (only if you would like to!) @skyisverybored (absolutely no pressure, feel free to ignore this if you don't want to do it, I won't be offended <3) @lilywolfgray @cauchemarlena @catkin-morgs (you're an awesome person by the way. Just wanted to tell you that) @moony4pads @eleilinnrallin @chaserofstarsandtheabyss @ipso-again @secretsinthevoid That's a lot of people... but if anyone else wants to join in.... please feel free!

thank you @depressedchameleon22 for the tag <3

do you play an instrument? yes i play the piano. i hvnt played it in years tho. also i was learning the guitar but rn i dont hv one so

favourite book characters? charlie from the perks of being a wallflower.

what's your star sign? cancer

favourite colour schemes? orange/wine red/tree green/creamy. basically picnic in the fall disjdkjd

naps or long sleep? long sleep bc when i nap then i cannot sleep at night

what languages do you speak? english and persian

dreams/aspirations? i wanna be a youtuber, i want to write a book, i want to work at an ngo, i hv many dreams actually jfjnsjd

long hair or short hair? for myself? short hair bc rn long hair gives me dysphoria. ive never actually had long hair. id cut it before it got too long everytime. for others tho both diskjsj

tea or coffee? tea. coffee makes me gassy djskskdkjd

bring a book character to life or go into a fictional world? go into a fictional world. probably a chill one where adventure and personal life is separate. like u can hv funa and then come home to a cup of tea and ur wife

do this if u want to <3

[raineydays411]

Ember

Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader 

Warning: Child neglect, swearing, angst, death 

Summary: After being kidnapped by Hydra, Y/N does some reflecting on her home life. Especially her relationship with her father

italics = past pov

Bold= thoughts

Italic bold= ghosts 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never thought your life would end like this. Alone, trapped in a Hydra cell, full of anger and resentment for the one man who was never supposed to break your heart. Of course, up until now you had been pretty optimistic your father would realize the error of his ways and miraculously spend years making up for years of missed recitals, ignored achievements, and multiple other offenses. You always forgave him because, hey the man was a member of the Avengers, what should you expect having Tony Stark as a father? 

But right now, as you lay on the cold, damp floor, writhing in pain from whatever glowey nuclear shit those assholes injected you with, you can’t help but remember the mistreatment and neglect bestowed upon you by your father. 

It was, it was September Winds blow, dead leaves fall

You’ll always remember that September day. The day your entire life had changed 

You were only eight when Loki tried to take over New York. You and your mom were coming home from the store when all of a sudden, people around you started to panic. Looking up, you saw a large portal in a once clear blue sky. Creatures appeared out of no where, destroying anything in their way. Your mother, terrified, took you by the hand and headed for a near by building. But, it seemed that others had that idea as well. Before you knew it, your vision was overwhelmed by the bodies of citizens trying to escape the chaos outside. After a few seconds, you found yourself in a crowed parking garage and no idea where your mother was.

You never saw her again after that.

After three days of searching, the police declared her dead and you were sent to live with your godmother, Pamela Isely. 

She was good to you. She held you through nightmares, told you stories about how your mother and her met, and even taught you how to take care of plants. The only complaint you had was that she would usually leave you alone every once in a while and come back with a lot of money, and occasionally, a loud blonde woman in a clown costume would come through the window and pinch your cheeks too hard. Other than that, you got adjusted to your new life quickly.

Four months passed and your life changed again. It was a cold September day, and you had just got home from school. As you walked into the apartment, you immediately felt a tension in the air, and you saw a man at the table with your Aunty Pam, who looked extremely uneasy and pale. They stared at you until your Aunt spoke.

“Y/N...you’re going back to New York.”

Those words alone made the floor fall from underneath you. You had just settled down. You finally felt comfortable without your mother in the world and now this?? Then the man cleared his throat, causing you to snap back into reality. 

“Y/n, my name is Tony Stark”

 You knew that name, he was the man in the metal suit who helped save New York. You didn’t care at the moment though, you just wanted to know why you were leaving your aunt.

Ignoring Tony, you looked at your aunt and whispered,

 “ Did...did I do something wrong?” 

Immediately, Pams eyes filled with tears as she quickly gathered you in her arms and responded with a loud, 

“Oh no, darling of course not”, She then proceeded to tell you the uncomfortable looking man at the table was in fact your father, who up till now you had never met. In fact, you never even fathomed the idea of having a father as your mom had always told you that you were a gift from some fairies she helped. You turned to the man who quietly sat at the table and looked over the man who was said to be your father.

He was definitely a handsome man. He wore a fancy looking suit and some tinted glasses even though he was inside. His hair was dark brown and messy, as if he was tugging or running his fingers through it. His skin looked to be am olive color but it was hard to tell as he looked kind of pale in the light of the small apartment you called home. You thought it was odd he hadn’t said anything other than introducing himself. 

“ Is it true? Are you really my dad?” You asked in a quiet voice.

He finally spoke, “Yeah kid, I’m your dad”

To you, I did surrender

Two weeks, you didn’t call

It’s been two weeks since you were taken by Hydra. Two weeks since you were injected with that mystery substance. You didn’t die, at least you don’t think you did. But you didn’t exactly feel alive either. You were colder than usual, like your body temperature lowered. You slept longer than normal especially the first three days after you were injected. The guards had to wake you up just to get you to eat. But the most worrying symptom of all is that your eyes were the same shade of neon blue as the liquid that was injected into your body. And everytime your eyes turned blue, something weird would happen. 

For example, the first time you noticed your eyes were blue, you woke up from the first long sleep.The second time, you thought you heard voices, screaming in agony and despair.This was odd because you were the only one in that cell block. As you came back to reality, you realized that you could see other ghostly figures in the once empty cells, and that you were floating three feet above your bed. 

Within the two weeks you were in that cell, you learned that that day you were injected, your heart did stop for an hour until you miraculously sprung back to life with a loud gasp, scaring the absolute shit out of the Hydra guards that were tasked with disposing your body. That would go through physical changes as well. Your once brown skin would change to a pale ghostly blue. And your black kinky hair would change to a shocking neon blue to match the color of your eyes.

For two weeks, you learned the ins and outs of your newfound powers. Two weeks of being pushed to your absolute limits by power hungry scientists. Two weeks of learning the names of the dead around you in those cells. 

It took two weeks, to realize that your father truly didn’t care about you.

And looking back on it, you should’ve known

Your life, goes on without me  My life, a losing game

It had been a year since you had moved into the Avengers Tower with your father. It had taken you a while to warm up to the team and for the team to get used to having a child around. But once you all got to know each other, it was like having multiple aunts and uncles. Especially because you were around them more than your own father. 

Unfortunately, once you had settled in and gotten to know everyone, Tony had locked himself away in his lab. Tinkering on a new project for weeks on end, ignoring his responsibilities as a new father.

Now, this didn’t really affect you till you started school. Tony had forgotten to pick you up multiple times, causing you to wait for hours on end till either Steve or Pepper realized that you hadn’t come home and rushed to the school , only to see you waiting on the front steps talking the ear off of the unlucky teacher who had to stay behind to wait with you.

Of course word got around that Y/N Stark was being forgotten at school everyday, thus prompting the kids at school to taunt you everyday after school.

“Where's your daddy Y/N??”

“I bet he leaves you here so you can get kidnapped so he doesn’t have to look at you”

“Your own dad doesn’t even love you”

Once you got to middle school, you joined as many after school clubs to hide the fact that there was no one to pick you up. And a small part hoped that it would be enough to gain your fathers attention. But it didn’t happen.

“Daddy! I made the volleyball team!”

“hmm, oh that's great kid, can you pass me that wrench”

“Dad! I’m in the robotics club”

“Y/N I’m really busy right now”

“ Hey dad...can you help me with--”

“Not now, go ask Pepper”

No matter what you did, you could never get his attention long enough. Nothing you did was good enough. You never got so much as a “welcome home” or a “ have a good day at school kiddo”. And you were fine with that. You were, because you knew that even though he didn’t show it, Tony Stark really did love you.

But you should, you should not doubt me You will remember my name.

After learning the extent of your powers, which included; flying,the ability to talk and see the dead, energy blasts, floating through walls, and the ability to shut off your powers at will. You decided it was time for you to make plans to escape. 

You’d like to think that you were really good at pretending. 

You did it on a daily basis, really. You pretended to be happy, not to notice Tony’s neglect, like you didn’t see the pity glances the rest of the team gave you. So convincing your captors that they finally broke you down wasn’t really a challenge. 

“....fine..i’ll help you” You said in a tired weak voice.

The two guards were startled at first, not expecting you to speak so suddenly

“You..what?” The younger of the two asked in a suspicious tone.

“I said I want to help you” you repeated a little louder. 

The first guard looked to the second, obviously confused at your sudden change of heart. They had a silent conversation with their eyes, as if debating on whether this was a trick or not. Finally, the older of the two turned to you and said,

“This better not be a trick, Stark.”

And with that, he started to unlock the door to your cell. 

“Okay, now I can either fight them now  and make a break for it, or I can wait till i get to the--” 

Your thoughts were cut off by a loud wailing, piecing your ears and automatically giving you a headache. Wincing in pain you look around the empty cell blocks and try to locate the spirit that’s making all that noise. When you see it, your heart breaks. It’s a young boy, around your age. The first thing you notice about him is that he had white hair, kinda Danny Phantom. As you continued to stare at the boy, his head suddenly turned and you both made eye contact, the movement startling you enough to make you jerk in the hold of the guards

“ HEY, eyes forward!” shouted the older guard. “There's no way out, if that's what you're looking for’ He said in a smug tone.

“I said I wanted to join you, why would I want to escape?” You reply, irritation dripping from your words.

“Just don’t pull any tricks kid.”

God does he have any other lines, you think to yourself mentally rolling your eyes. Sounds familiar.

Oh Ember, you will remember

Oh Ember, one thing remains

“Y/N I’m busy, go as--” “I know, go ask Pepper”

“Oh kid, I’m sorry I forgot” “ yeah, I know”

“You’re on the volleyball team” “ yes dad. For four years now”

“Y/N! I’m gonna be in the lab with Peter so try not to bother us.”

“Y/N me and Peter--”

“Good job, Peter”

“Hey Peter--”

God were you tired of that name. You never ever felt the feeling of envy and anger as much as you did when Peter came into your life. 

In fact, you were still healing from almost losing your family you found in the Avengers. Your dad didn’t want you around the “traitors” as he privately called them, so you were secluded. Watching them from afar and yearning for the comfort of hearing Steves pre-war stories, helping Clint pull off the most ridiculous pranks, helping Wanda teach Vision how to cook, and most of all you missed talking to Natasha. She reminded you of your aunt Pam, mainly because they both had red hair. You hoped that your father would understand this loss and step up now that you really needed a connection, but no. He decided that Peter Parker deserved all his attention. So you stopped trying as hard.

Oh Ember, So warm and tender You will remember my name

You walk into a room with a singular table and no windows. Sat at the table was a bald man writing in a notebook. The two guards lead you to the table and make you sit opposite of the bald man. He looks up at you and smiles.

“So, Ms. Stark has finally decided to comply?” He asks in a smug tone. You roll your eyes and answer back in a sarcastic tone,

“Yeah yeah, just cut the crap and tell me what you want me to do.”

The bald man just smiles and looks at you, as if trying to read your mind to figure out your motives. 

“Well”, he says, leaning back into his chair. “Lets get down to business.” He then proceeds to talk about the process of join his team and what you will be doing. But you don’t hear a word of it. Because you were going to escape this hell hole one way or another. 

“Well then, lets get you changed.” said the bald man. “Yeager, Jennings, take our guest to to her new room. 

“Huh so they do have names.” You think, as they pull you out of the chair and into the hallway. Walking back into the cell block, you make eye contact with that white haired boy again. He’s quiet as he watches you walk back to your room, then he disappears. 

You finally get back to your cell and notice a pair of black spandex, black halter top, grey boots and some black gloves on the floor. Changing into them, you take your hair into a pineapple with a hair tie they had given you. Looking into the piece of metal you used as a mirror, you changed into your ghost form. Suddenly, you hear a male voice behind you.

“Don’t let them know you can do that.” 

You startle and turn around, only to see none other than the white haired boy. He looked equally as startled as he realized you can see and hear him. 

“Why not?” you asked, changing back to your normal self.

“Because, they won’t ever let you leave.You’re already the first one to survive the injection. If they realize you can go ghost, they’ll do everything in their power to control you.”

Your mind flashed to Bucky. How Steve told you that they kept him. Brainwashing him over and over till he just became a weapon. You were not going to let them do that to you. You looked back at the boy.

“Can you help me get out of here?” you asked hopefully. The boy looked at you and said, 

“Well I’ve got nothing else to do.” You let go a sigh of relief. You were about to say something when you heard Yeager and Jennings walking down the hallway.

“They’re coming” You whisper, “ what do I do?”

“This base is small. All the people here are the only ones who know about it. They’re all going to be in the training room you’re being taken to. Wait till you get there, phase into the floor to the basement and blow up the heater. That should cause the whole building to cave in” 

You again don’t get to respond, as the two men finally get to your cell and unlock it. You walk out of the cell, head held high and allow them to lead you to the training room. Despite the look of confidence, you were dreading the next few moments. 

“So how come I’m the only one here?” you ask, even though you know the answer. The older guard looks at you and says

“You’re the only one who survived.” You fake a look of shock and look forward as if the news made you uneasy. And it did. It made you mad that these people didn’t care that they were murdering innocent people. They couldn’t hear the cries and the wails of agony these poor trapped souls emitted. In a way, it was ironic. Back at the tower, you were the poor soul nobody could see. And now you were surrounded by them.

Your heart, your heart is rendered Your loss, now bear the shame

This was the last straw. There was only so much you an take before you broke and this was it.

 Tony didn’t intend for you to hear it, but god did it hurt all the same. One phrase shattered your whole world. 

“You know Spiderling, your kinda like the kid I always wanted to have.”

An tense silence filled the common room. The first time in months you were able to see th eteam and they had to bear witness to this. Of course they did, who else would give you that stare full of sorrow and pity. You barely even noticed though. You were too busy looking at the “heartwarming scene.”

“that's such bullshit” Oh, how you wish you had a camera if only to capture the look of pure “oh shit” painted on Steve's face.

“What..what was that kid?” Asks your father. You turn to him, a fury in your eyes that nobody has ever seen.

“THAT IS ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT.”  You scream. “ FOR EIGHT YEARS I HAVE TRIED SO HARD FOR YOU TO LOVE ME. EIGHT YEARS I JOINED CLUBS, GOT THE HIGHEST GRADED IN CLASS AND FOR WHAT?” 

Tony and Peter look at you in shock “Y/n..wha..what are you talking about?” Peter asks in a baffled voice.

“Oh eat shit Peter! You know exactly what I’m talking about! Do you not find it weird, that your new mentor spends every single second of free time he has on you and not with his daughter?? Or are you so needy for some sort of parental validation that you don’t even care??” 

Deep down you know it’s not Peters fault. Hell, you two probably could have been good friends if your dad wasn’t such a tool. 

“Hey kid, I don’t know what's gotten into you, but that was way over the line.” Said Tony in a stern voice. Your eyes harden.

“Oh, did I hurt your poor little spiders feelings?? I didn’t even know you cared about other peoples feelings Tony? Or is it just your daughters that you ignore ?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t ignore you, stop being so over dramatic.”

OVERDRAMATIC?? DO YOU REALIZE THE ONLY THING YOU KNOW ABOUT ME IS MY NAME??” You are now sobbing. “ Do you even know my favorite color? How old I am?” 

Tony looks at you, eyes wide.”Y/N...” You cut him off

“Just forget it. I understand now. I will never be important to you. Not like Peter apparently is. I just wish it didn't take me eight years to figure that out.” And with that, you run out of the room, tears running down your cheeks and ignoring the calls of your father, the team, and Peter. 

You run for a few blocks and cry in an alleyway. not the smartest idea but you were too upset to care. And as you cry, you don’t notice the dark shadow behind you before its too late and the world goes dark.

Like dead trees, in cold december  Nothing but ashes remain

The hydra base was now engulfed with flames.  Your body was tired from phasing through the walls, and your head hurts from those energy blasts. But one thing brings some happiness in your heart as you watch all the souls that were trapped there realize they are free. All but one, the white haired kid. He walks up to you. 

“So you did it.” He says with a smile. You smile back. 

“Yeah I did.  Thanks to you.”

“Blue suits you.” he says with a blush. You squint at him for a second and let out a chuckle. 

“Thanks” ,You’re both silent for a few seconds, watching the souls leave. You speak up again. 

“Why aren’t you leaving like them” You question him.

“I don’t know, I guess my time here isn’t up.” he says looking out at the horizon. You nod and look at around trying to figure out where you are. 

“So, what are you going to do next” he asks. Your body stiffens as you are filled with resentment.

“I’m going to visit my father.” You say, eyes glowing a neon blue.

You will remember my name.

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A/N: HI!so this is my first ever fanfic! i hope anyone who reads this enjoys it!! Let me know what you think and what i can improve on!💕